The Ravages Of Hell
by KColl2003
Summary: Defeating the First has dark consquences. Ensemble cast.
1. Default Chapter

**The Ravages Of Hell (1?)**

Hell, 2003

Darzus laughed as The First was defeated. "Imbecile." His smile widened as he sensed something. He looked around his fiery domain and to his minions. "Our time is at hand," he declared. "The bars on our prison loosen."

"Will it be soon sir?" hissed one of his servants, a leathery-winged gargoyle with a cobra's head, his forked tongue sliding out of his mouth.

"Soon enough," he replied. "Start preparing our master's legions."

* * *

San Diego, May 2005 

"Hey dad, we have a guest!"

Angel looked towards his son stood in the doorway of Angel & Son Investigations' office. He blinked he recognised the lantern-jawed man stood there. " Groo?"

The former champion of Pylea flashed him a gleaming smile. Guy should have been a toothpaste model. "It is Angel," the man confirmed before looking around, his expression hopeful. "Where is Princess?"

Princess? Angel's stomach hollowed as he recalled that had been what Groo had called Cordelia. "She's," for a second words failed him, "dead."

* * *

Detroit, May 2005 

"Damn!" Faith jumped backwards, the creature's slashing claws narrowly missing her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her Watcher and ex lead the demon's would-be sacrifices to safety.

Satisfied that the people were saved, Faith concentrated on going for the kill. Ducking beneath the monster's flailing arms, she snapped out a kick that smashed into her adversary's knee, knocking the creature off-balance and towards her. Taking advantage of the demon's momentary distress, she brought her sword flashing up, decapitating it. Grinning slightly at yet another victory, Faith back-flipped out of the way of the toppling demon before sauntering out of the cavern. "Are you alright Faith?"

"Natch," she flashed her ex a smile. "Piece of cake." Her and Wood might not have worked out – a combination of the Woodster's mommy issues and the fact he was brought up by a traditional Watcher, and she wasn't, she chuckled inwardly, exactly a traditional anything. But at least he'd been the first guy to treat her right, to teach her that she was worth more than a quick fuck. And for that she'd always be grateful. He just wasn't the one. "I'm going for a drink, you get rid of the civilians, k?"

"Faith!"

Ignoring her titular Watcher's protests, she sauntered off into the swirling night, the wind caressing her face like a lover's touch. A few drinks, some dancing, and another fight lived through. That sounded like a good night to her.

* * *

Nicaragua, May 2005 

"Incoming!"

Riley ducked at his wife's cry, narrowly avoiding a jet of flame shooting out of the mouth of the airborne lizard they were battling. "Thanks!" he roared as he joined Graham in shooting grenades into the monster's gaping maws. Turning to his fellow team-members, he yelled. "Down!"

Without waiting to see if his best friend and other team members had obeyed, he dropped face-first onto the jungle's muddy ground. A half-second later, the ground shook with the after-effect of the grenades exploding. Ears still ringing, he struggled to his feet, conscious of the sweat that caused his filthy fatigues to stick to him. Despite his discomfort he grinned at the sight that greeted him.

The monster's twin-horned head had been completely destroyed, blown to smithereens by the twin attack, leaving behind a green-scaled body, a trail of one foot long spikes running up its back, a pair of butterfly shaped wings the size of a small car also attached. "Don't forget our victory cigar."

His grin still in place, he turned to Graham and reached for the proffered cigar. And had it snatched away from him by Sam. "Hey!"

"I told you, no smoking!" his wife scolded before crouching down beside the monster.

"And I told you, whipped."

Riley shot his best friend an irritated glance. "Shut up," he replied before turning his attention to his wife and second-in-command. Noting her concerned look, he hurried over. "What's up Sam?"

"Yeah," Graham said from behind him. "Demon's dead? What's the problem?"

"Problem is," Sam scowled, "this is a Modaz dragon."

"So?" he queried.

"So Modazs were reported to have died out seven hundred years ago," his wife retorted.

"We've hunted demons we didn't know existed before ," Graham pointed out.

"Yes, but for the most part even those we didn't know existed, the Council or some other occult group knew about," Sam replied. "But it was a Slayer in 1297 who killed the last family of these in Mexico."

"So how come they are back now?" he queried.

"Yeah," Sam replied. "That's the question."

* * *

Rio De Janeiro, May 2005 

Willow moaned as her girl-friend pulled her closer, her body pressing against her, her scent filling her nose. She was oblivious to everything – the dancers around them, the samba pounding out of the nightclub's speakers, even the strobe lighting. Her whole world was the gorgeous brunette grinding against her. "I want you now," she managed to whisper.

"In that case," the Slayer's full lips pulled up in a smile even as the brunette whispered in her ear. "We better leave and go home now."

"Sounds like a plan," she eagerly agreed before dragging the laughing Slayer through the throes of writhing dancers.

The moment they stepped out of the sweaty club and into the cool night the world seemed to tilt on its axis. Before she knew it she was on her knees and throwing up, her vomit splattering the ground. She was vaguely aware of Kennedy pushing the club's bouncers back but all she could hear was the sound of inhuman screaming.

After what seemed an agonising eternity she felt Kennedy's hand on her shoulder. Ignoring the pain shooting through her head, she looked at her girl-friend's concerned face. She opened her mouth several times before finally managing to speak. "Need. To. Get. To. Giles."

"What's wrong?"

"The," she took a rasping breath. "End of the world."

* * *

Rome, May 2005 

"This is," Buffy took a sip of her wine before glancing around the exclusive, discreetly lit restaurant, "div-." Her face tightened as she saw a raven-haired teen charging towards her, evading the waiters' attempts to restrain her, a sultry, busty beauty, and a willowy blonde following behind. "Dawn." She scowled at her sister as she stopped beside their table. The Immortal waved the approaching waitress away. "What do you want?"

"Oh nothing much," her sister tersely replied. "Except well maybe that!" Dawn pointed out of the window.

Buffy's eyes widened at the sight of a helicopter approaching their fourth floor restaurant. "What is-."

And then the shooting began.

* * *

Nigeria, May 2005 

Xander glanced over his shoulder. He shot a tight-faced Amy a reassuring smile, resisting the urge to shake his head in disbelief that he was working with the Wicca. When they'd decamped in England twenty-two months ago, they'd found Amy studying with Giles' Devon coven.

At first he and Buffy had been nervous of Amy's presence. Kennedy had been, Xander allowed himself a wry grin, the word was definitely pissed. But Giles and Will had explained they'd organised for Amy to recuperate and learn after her run-in with Willow and Kennedy. And if he could give Will, and Faith second chances, and in Buffy's case a third and fourth, he guessed he could extend the same courtesy to Amy.

And that was how she'd ended up joining him, Vi, and Rona in moving to Africa eighteen months ago. And how the Witch found herself with him and the others in a tunnel searching for an unnamed book of prophecy. "Life sure is unpredictable."

"Be quiet Xander," Amy hissed. And yet, Xander grinned to himself, still being bossed around by women. Some things never changed.

His amusement died when he reached the edge of a ledge overlooking a circle of eight demons surrounding a blood-coloured pentagram with a thick leather-bound volume in the centre of it. His skin prickled both at the black robed demon's jaundiced skin and slanted, violet eyes, and their ominous chanting. "What's going on down there?" he muttered.

"The Ritual of Cleansing," Amy hissed back, her eyes filling with horror. "That book is so foul not even demons can read it without first completing the ritual."

Oh, oh. That did not sound good. "In that case we better stop them," Xander glanced at his companions. "Right?"

"Right," Amy nodded. "Only don't step into the pentagram."

"Why not?" Rona queried.

"It's a doorway to hell," Amy replied.

Xander gulped. "Why do none of these doorways ever lead to Disneyland?" he complained.

* * *

Devon, May 2005 

Giles smiled fondly as he climbed out of his jet-black MG, the one sop to his new position as Council head that he'd allowed himself. Up ahead was a traditional rustic Devon cottage complete with a neatly trimmed garden, not dissimilar to hundreds maybe thousands around the country, lucky enough to escape the current class-obsessed government's rampant hatred of country-folk.

Except this was the place that first he, then Willow, and finally Amy had all recuperated and rehabilitated following their various black magic escapades. And this morning Andrew had taken a phone call from the Coven's leader summonsing him here for some reason or other. Giles chuckled as he made his way up the winding path, the gravel crunching underfoot. Probably to tell him off for not visiting in four months.

He knocked on the white panelled door. After a minute, he stepped away, his brow furrowing. His puzzlement turned to concern when he noticed all the flowery curtains were closed. And in the middle of the day. After muttering a quick prayer, he crouched down by the lock and jimmied it. After a few seconds, the lock clicked open. "This is probably a really bad idea." Taking a breath, he stepped through the doorway.

* * *

New Orleans, May 2005. 

Lorne supped half-heartedly at his Sea-Breeze, the depression he'd been suffering since running from LA. refusing to shift. He jolted as a scaled demon began singing on stage. "Oh boy," he took a gulp of his drink, some of it spilling over the edge of his cocktail glass on account of his shaking. "I think it's time to get back in the game. Oh, short and silent," he sighed, "the phone."

"Trouble?" Oz asked as the pink-haired musician who'd been his business partner for eight months passed him the Mickey Mouse shaped phone.

"Only the biggest. Elvis in '77 big. Mama Cass big. Barry White big."

"I get the point."


	2. 2

**FIC: Ravages Of Hell (2?)**

"My Princess?" Angel forced himself to relax at the Pylean's approach, confident in his ability to restrain Groo with or without his son's assistance. Besides, he doubted that the demonhuman hybrid would attack him. At least until after he'd explained. "What happened to her?"

Where to begin? "You see, Cordelia's visions -." He was interrupted by the ringing of his phone. "Sorry I'll have to take this." Grateful for the interruption he picked the receiver up. "Hello. Angel & Son Investigations. How can I-."

"& Son? Gotta say, I didn't see that coming!"

Angel gaped at the unexpectedly familiar voice, so shocked that it took him a few seconds to respond. "Lorne?" a rare smile slowly spread across his face. "It's been a long-."

"No time!" Lorne's voice was suddenly brittle with fear. "You need to get out of your office now!"

The urgency in his long-lost friend's voice compelled him to surge to his feet. "Everyone out now!" Connor's mouth opened in a question and then the front window exploded, knocking them all to the ground with its force and showering them with glass. Over the roaring in his ears, he heard a cold voice. "The vampire's the priority, but kill them all."

* * *

"How long until we get there?" 

"Ten minutes ma'am," John Staham replied, risking a look into the rear-view mirror at his passenger. Man, the brunette was a looker, a brunette in her early twenties, her lithe, athletic body only emphasised by her eye-boggling PVC catsuit.

"There's an extra hundred if you make it in five," the client ordered. Irritation flickered across the beauty's face. "And keep your damn eyes on the road."

"Yes ma'am!" he exclaimed before obeying. As he turned back he heard the woman mutter 'damn conscience' under her breath.

* * *

"Any idea why Control wants us back in NY?" Riley had to shout to be heard over the roar of the transport plane's engines. 

"No idea," his wife winced as the back of her head banged against the plane. "But the message was urgent."

"Yeah," Finn agreed. They'd done emergency pick-ups like this before. But on each occasion it had been to quell an urgent and major demonic uprising. The thought of one in the middle of the Big Apple made his stomach hollow with fear. "Guess we'll find out soon."

"Guess we will," Graham put in.

* * *

Faith glanced at her watch, peering through the club's murky darkness to its illuminated dial. "Two-forty-five." It was three hours, a dozen dances, and eight beers since they'd saved the hostages, but she was still buzzing. What she needed now was a really good-. 

Reminding herself that she was worth more than that, she glanced at her companions, a trio of frat-boys. "Sorry boys," she drawled. "A girl needs her beauty sleep. Been fun."

She started to rise only for one of the college boys to grab hold of her hand. "Hey now Faye," the kid leered. "We've been buying you drinks for hours babe. Time to settle the bill."

Jesus, Faith rolled her eyes, the fucker couldn't even get her name right. "You've got the wrong girl." She firmly removed the man's hand from her arm. The man opened his mouth, but something in her eyes stopped him from speaking. Satisfied, she turned and sauntered out of the sweltering club.

She'd barely gotten two blocks when she heard a trio of footsteps following her. Faith smirked, they probably thought they were gonna to have a little fun with the poor defenceless girl. "Boy are they in for a surprise." Noting a fire escape just above, she leapt up, and nimbly clambered onto the landing. She watched as the heedless trio walked on underneath her. Her eyes narrowed as she noticed two things.

Firstly they weren't the frat boys. And second they weren't human. "Great," she hissed. "Just great."

* * *

"Have you called Giles yet?" 

Kennedy cast her girl-friend a worried look. The red-head was curled up in a shaking ball on their bed, her face ashen-grey. It had taken the Wicca a good five minutes to stop throwing up and her an hour to get her the normally twenty minutes' walk home. "Yeah," she replied, "but Andrew says he's out of the office -."

"Try his cell!"

Kennedy started at her girl-friend's almost snarl. "I have. No signal. Baby," she walked over to her girl-friend and stroked her hair off her sweat-soaked brow. "What did you see?"

"The end of the world." Willow moaned. "Get us booked on a London flight, we need to get back to HQ fast."

"Get down!" The moment she saw the jet-black, tinted helicopter with its two machine-gun wielding thugs hanging off it, Buffy tipped the table over, sending glasses and plates shattering to the ground, before launching herself at her sister, grabbing Dawn around the waist, and powering her to the floor. Looking up, she saw the Immortal and her fellow Slayer rapidly following suit.

Others in the fourth floor restaurant weren't as lucky. Bullets tore through the air, ripping through hard-up waitresses and wealthy patrons alike, death the final equalizer. Their bullet-ridden bodies crashed to the carpet, its plush light-blue material rapidly turning red. Buffy tore her eyes from the massacre to stare in horror at a wide-eyed Dawn. "What. Is. Going. On. Here?" she screamed over the constant roar of their attackers' weapons.

"We were rousting Antonio's," Buffy glared at her sister's Slayer escorts, they were meant to be keeping the former key out of trouble, not taking her to Rome's answer to Willy's. "While we were there, this Cvuthla demon told us there's an open contract out on you, Angel, and Faith!"

"Angel!" Buffy's heart missed a beat at the vampire's name. "Does he know?"

"Oh for god's sake!" Dawn's face contorted in anger. "Can we not obsess over your ex for once? How are we," Dawn ducked as a splinter flew off the table protecting them, "going to get out of this?"

Buffy peered around, her lungs clogging with the cordite in the air. She had to admit she was stumped. Machine-gun toting maniacs weren't exactly what she was used to. "I don't kno-," she grimaced as she noticed something, the beginnings of an idea germinating in her mind.

* * *

Rona and Vi leapt off the ledge to the cavern twenty feet below while Xander joined Amy in taking the less direct route – hurrying down the stone steps. Xander scowled as they were confronted by a scythe-wielding demon. After ducking beneath its weapon-swing, Xander thrust his sword deep into the monster's thickly muscled thigh. 

Blood jetted out of the wound, covering his previously gleaming blade in an murky grey. The beast howled before coming at him with another slash at his neck.

"Damn!" Xander squatted further down to avoid the attack. "Just great!" he groused when doing so caused his blade to slip out of his grip. Thinking quickly, he scurried backwards, careful to keep himself between the demon and Amy.

Its lipless mouth parted in a menacing sneer, the monster charged. Xander quickly reached into his jacket and pulled out his S&W .44, a going away present from G-Man, and placed a trio of bullets into the beast's thick chest. The revolver's booming retort made his ears ring, but also had the effect of knocking his adversary on his ass.

Almost immediately the monster began to rise. Hurrying forward, Xander dragged his sword out of the creature's thigh and beheaded it. Body bathed in sweat and chest heaving, he looked around to see if either of his Slayers needed any help.

Instead he saw Rona dropping the last of the demons. Xander raised a wry eyebrow. Seven demons between the two of them in the time it took him to kill one. A man would have to be a complete idiot to get sexist around them. "Wish they didn't stamp on my manliness quite so much," he muttered. He groaned inwardly at Vi and Rona's stereo grins. They'd heard him, and knowing Slayers as he did, they wouldn't let him forget it.

Turning, he saw Amy was levitating the book out of its surrounding pentagram, a grimace of effort on the Wiccan's face. Which kinda got him to thinking. In the past eighteen months he'd seen Amy do far more powerful spells that this with much less apparent effort. Which meant there had to be something else going on.

He waited until the witch had lowered the book to the ground beside her before speaking. "That looked to be hard work," he commented, careful to keep any hint of criticism out of his voice. He'd learnt the hard way that Wiccas didn't react well to it.

The scathing look Amy sent his way indicated he hadn't been quite careful enough. "I also had to cast a protective cleansing spell to ensure my magic wasn't corrupted by the pentagram," his fellow Sunnydaler explained before crouching down to pick up the heavy text. "Oh no."

Xander groaned at Amy's gasp. That did not sound good. After exchanging worried looks with his Slayers, he spoke. "What's up?"

Amy's expression was haunted. "We need to get England now."

* * *

"Oh my lord." Giles' hushed voice rang through the eireely silent cottage. His palms sweaty, mouth dry, and heart pounding, he stepped over the threshold. Skin prickling, he halted in the narrow hallway, some instinct telling him to draw the MI5 licensed gun he carried in a shoulder holster. Taking a rattling breath, he stepped towards the living room door, opened it, and stepped through. 

And right into hell.

The limbless corpses of women he'd been proud to consider his mentors were scattered around the floor, their blood soaking the carpet and the once comfortably traditional furniture, and the stench of death hanging heavy in the air. Bile rose in his throat as he noted that the faces of all the corpses shared the same terrified expressions. Shaking his head, he turned towards the door, intent on getting the hell out of the cottage.

The blood drained from his face when he saw the unmistakably demonic writings scribbled all over the walls. He recognised some but not all of the languages and dialects, although in his shocked state he couldn't concentrate enough to translate it. Dazed, he stumbled out of the house, dropped to his knees and vomited into a near-by flower pot. Once he'd finished throwing up, he reached a shaking hand into his jacket's inner pocket, pulled out his mobile, and hurried dialled the Watchers' HQ. "Andrew," he rasped, his throat rough from vomiting. "I need a clean-up team at the Devon Cove, psychics, Watchers, translators, Slayers, and Mages. Hurry!" After hanging up the phone, he allowed the tears to flow.

* * *

"You off to Angel?" his business partner asked. 

Lorne nodded at the pink-haired former guitarist that fate had sent his way some eighteen months ago in need of guidance. "Back to the unbeating bosom of Angelcakes," he confirmed. He didn't want to do it, but the vision was pretty clear. And visceral.

Although that just might have been the part where his former boss got his hands on him. "Oh goody," he muttered. This was going to be less fun than a Vanilla Ice comeback tour.

"I guess we'll go by car?"

"I sort of stand out at air -," Lorne's head snapped towards his best friend. "You're coming with me?"

Oz shrugged, his face wearing its usual stoic expression. "I like to save the world between paying gigs. Call it a hobby."

Lorne beamed. Maybe this wasn't going to be as bad as he thought. "Let's pack."


	3. 3

**FIC: Ravages Of Hell (3?)**

Ears still ringing, Angel rolled to his feet. Spinning around, he saw a quintet of bald, one-eyed bipeds with spiked tails and the physiques of WWE wrestlers. Recognising them as Baldara demons, Angel grimaced. They were dumb, basically just low-level thugs, but very strong and tough.

Gathering his wits, Angel leapt into the air, dropkicking the lead Baldara in the chest. "Shit!" he cursed as his feet slammed into their target and he bounced off the monster's armour-plated chest. Hitting the ground on his side, he sprang back to his feet just in time to sway away from a three pronged claw strike at his throat.

How did you kill an armour-plated demon, Angel wondered as he snatched up a letter opener from the wreckage that had been his desk and flung it at the monster's violently green eye. The moment the Baldara made to slap it away, Angel dived forward in a baseball slide, his feet smashing into his adversary's shins. The Baldara let out a high-pitched scream before pitching forward. Angel rolled away from the plummeting monster, not wanting to get stuck under its six hundred pound body. Standing, he kicked the rising Baldara in its face, knocking it back down to the carpet. Before the monster had chance to rise again, Angel grabbed his desk and flipped it onto the creature's head, crushing it like a melon.

"That hurt!" Angel vamped out as a claw tore through his left shoulder from behind, blood gushing out of the wound. Ignoring the throbbing pain, he twisted around to face his attacker and snapped a right cross into its face, knocking its head to the side.

The monster grunted and swung at him again. He swayed away from the attack before leaping into the air, wrapping his feet around his attacker's head and twisting. The creature's column-like neck snapped like a twig and the monster fell soundlessly to the ground.

Landing on his feet, Angel just managed to duck a decapitating claw-slash, instead taking the blow on his forehead, opening a nasty gash. Blood dripping into his eyes, he staggered backwards.

Suddenly the monster exploded into flames before disintegrating to dust by his feet. Wiping the blood out of his eyes, he blinked at the lithe brunette in front of him, his mouth dropping open in recognition. "Gwen?"

The thief smirked. "Hi Angel, pleased to see me?"

Angel opened his mouth to reply, and then groaned as he noticed something. Another wrecked office, what was this, the fourth? "Office insurance sucks!"

* * *

Her heart pounding with a familiar mixture of fear and excitement, Faith leapt off the fire escape, plummeting towards the demonic trio. Her eyes widened when one of her opponents looked up, and shot out a five-foot long forked tongue. "Shit!" she roared. "Why can't I meet a stud with a tongue like that?" 

Still in mid-flight, she twisted away from the tongue and made to grab it. "FUCK!" she screamed as acid coating the tongue blistered her palm. Tears blurring her vision, she thrust her hunting knife through the tongue. She grinned slightly at the monster's answering screech. "Like that mother-fucker?"

Landing on the cobbled ground with her knees bent to minimise the impact, she spun away from on of the assassins' charge, leaving a foot behind for her would-be assailant to trip over. Her eyes widened as she noticed something gleaming on the monster's hand. "Oh cra-, ah fuck!"

She screamed as her back exploded in blazing agony, her body arching in an instinctive attempt to pull away from the pain. Shaking it off, she saw the forked tongued monster, a grey-skinned giant toad, leaping at her, powered by his massively muscled hind legs. Reaching up, she grabbed hold of the monster's shoulders, and flung it into the air, impaling it on the fire-escape ladder above.

Head swimming from a combination of blood loss and pain, she turned to face the two surviving demons. One was a short monkey-like creature, the knuckles of its long, ropy arms scraping the ground, kinda reminded her of some of the losers she'd boned back in the day. The other was a dark-skinned, powerfully-built vampire. The vampire leered at her, his lips parting to reveal his fangs. "In three centuries I ain't never killed a Slayer. Would have done before if I knew how pretty you were."

"Oh yeah? I'm flattered. But I ain't dead yet," Faith answered with a wolfish smirk. Despite her bluster, Faith knew she was chest-deep in the shit. Out-numbered, with what felt like a knife stuck in her lower back, things did not look or feel good.

Suddenly the monkey launched itself at her, its hands wildly flailing. Grunting with the effort, she turned sideways and thrust kicked the demon in the chest.

The demon crashed into the side of a near-by dumpster, bouncing off to the ground. Even as the demon rose shakily, Faith grabbed a near-by trash-can lid and flung it like a Frisbee. The steel lid sliced through the monster's neck, sending its head flying through the air.

"Ah!" Faith screamed as the knife in her back was twisted. Eyes tearing, she fell to her knees, the fall's impact reverberating through her already tortured body. "Oh god," she wheezed.

"So pretty." The vampire purred in her ear. Faith's skin crawled as his hands began to caress her body. "Oh, I'm going to have fun with -."

The demon grunted as she drove an elbow into his groin. Taking advantage of the offered respite, she staggered to her feet and turned to face the demon. "You want some of this honey," she struggled to take a breath, "come get some."

The beast vamped out. "Gladly." The monster leapt towards her.

And right onto the wooden splinter she'd picked up off the ground. The vampire's eyes widened a half-second before he exploded into dust. "Well that was easy," Faith blustered. And then her world went black.

* * *

Xander watched as Amy paced the ground in front of him before glancing around their surroundings, a deserted landing strip, one of dozens perhaps hundreds dotted around the continent used by poachers and smugglers alike. "Pacing won't get the plane here any quicker." 

His mild comment earned him a scathing glare. "We have to hurry," the Wicca declared.

He shuffled uncomfortably under the Wicca's intense gaze. Having been on the bad side of one rampaging witch, he really didn't want to get on Amy's bad side. Swallowing down the unease that was choking him, he spoke. "What's so important about this -."

He was interrupted by the sight of their plane taxing down onto the solitary landing strip. "Thank god," he stood. "Let's get out of-," his voice trailed off at Amy's ghostly white face. "What's up?"

The Wicca pushed the book into his hands. "Get this to Giles. There's demons coming."

Skin crawling, Xander looked into the surrounding shadows. Failing to see anything, he returned his gaze to his friend. "There's nothing there," he declared. "And if something does turn up," he reached for his sword, "we'll fight them off."

"No," Amy shook her head, the Wicca's face pale in the moonlight. "You can't fight them. I'll hold them off."

"What!" Xander exclaimed. "No way. I don't leav-." Amy nodded to one of the Slayers behind. Something smashed into the back of his head and then nothing.

* * *

Amy nodded as Rona caught Xander's body as he fell forward. "Get him out of here," she ordered. 

Vi looked at her. "Are you sure?"

Remembering the promise she'd made to Willow, she nodded. "Just go!"

The moment the two Slayers hurried towards the plane, carrying Xander's limp body between them, Amy swung back to the bushes surrounding the tiny airfield. Wiping away the tears rolling down her face, she readied herself. "Oh god," she whispered hoarsely. She didn't want to die but neither did she want to fail again. She closed her eyes, centring herself, allowing the magic to flow through her.

Her concentration was shattered by an ear-splitting roar. Her breath caught as she opened her eyes to see a ten foot tall, rail-thin, grey-scaled creature with staring black eyes and talons hanging from each of its six arms standing some two hundred yards away. "Oh goddess."

Gathering herself, she sent a surged of magic towards the beast. The monster let out a high-pitched screech before exploding in a mist of yellow viscera. Amy bit her lip as she saw about a dozen of the monsters clamber out of the bush and charge her.

Amy took a breath as she allowed the black magic enter her, turning her clothes, hair, and eyes as black as the night itself, and empowering her more than she'd ever been before. She'd sworn she'd never use the dark arts again, but in a few minutes it wouldn't matter. Behind her she heard the plane taking off. She smirked, she'd kept her word, made it up to Willow.

Amy unleashed her power, obliterating demon after demon. Her eyes widened as one of the demons made it through her attacks. Before she could react, his claws ripped through her.

* * *

"Michelle! Pass me that table cloth!" Buffy ordered, one eye on the hovering helicopter. She nodded her thanks at the French Slayer as she did as she was told. 

"What are you going to do?"

Buffy gestured Dawn to silence even as she tied a lasso and flung it towards the fire extinguisher fastened to the wall beside the bar. She grinned as the lasso fell perfectly around the extinguisher's neck. "Always wanted to be a cow-girl," she muttered before yanking.

Slayer strength tore the extinguisher from the wall, taking with it some plaster, and sent it rolling towards her. "Bella! What are you doing?" yelled the Immortal over the threatening rattle of machine gun-fire.

"This!" Buffy exclaimed. Rising the moment the guns fell silent, she flung the extinguisher at the helicopter's pilot with all her might.

The cockpit's glass shattered under the force of an enraged Slayer's attack; a half-second later, the makeshift missile smashed into the pilot's helmet en-route to smashing into his skull, splattering the cockpit with blood even as the man's neck snapped. The two gunmen's faces contorted in horror as the helicopter dropped like a stone.

"Yes!" Buffy turned to her companions, her elation dying as she saw the carnage wrecked in an attempt to kill her. Twisted bodies lay all over, their blood drenching the carpet, pain-filled wails and hysterical sobs from the injured filled the air. An empty feeling forming in her stomach, she turned to the others. "Whoever did this, dies," she declared.


	4. 4

**FIC: The Ravages Of Hell (4?)**

Haifa, Israel

Hannah Cohen stifled a yawn as she watched the booming nightclub from across the busy road. Over the past month, six teens had disappeared from the area surrounding the new hotspot in town. The rumour mill had a number of theories including organised crime, terrorists, and just plain runaways.

But she knew the truth. Two nights ago her Watcher and her, she glanced up at the beautiful former American cop stood beside her in the shadows of a book store, had found one of the missing teens in an alley drained of his blood. Vampires. Hannah felt her hackles rise at just the word.

Forcing her instinctive loathing under control, Hannah spoke to her companion. "That car has been sat watching the club for a long time," she nodded towards a battered, blue-grey hatchback parked across the road, one building down from the club.

"Well done child," her Watcher nodded, the ghost of a smile flickering across her lips. "But don't worry about them. Just policemen running surveillance."

Hannah hid a smile, proud of the rare praise from the former detective, Lockley. "But what will we do about them if there's a vampire outside the club?"

The former cop opened her mouth to reply. Her head snapped to the right at the sound of a car screeching down the road towards them. "What the-."

Hannah screamed as a gun muzzle poked out of the car's open window. Bullets jetted out of the gun, ripping through her and her Watcher before the car sped away. Hannah's last thoughts as she plummeted to the ground was that she'd never get to see inside of the club.

Or her Mamma again.

* * *

Vancouver, Canada 

Becky danced eagerly from foot to foot as she observed the depilated warehouse she and her two fellow Slayers were going to raid tonight, a warehouse apparently occupied by a group of 6 – 8 vampires. As a member of one of Canada's trio of three Slayer and one Watcher teams situated in her home nation's largest cities of Tronto, Vancouver, and Montreal, she'd been handling such routine missions for just over two years, so tonight's mission was nothing special. No, the reason for her excitement was some thrilling news her Watcher had shared with them the previous day.

He'd told them that Robin Wood and Faith Lehane, the Council's mobile troubleshooters, would be visiting Canada's teams next week. She was going to meet actual legends. True they weren't actual Scoobies, she'd die if she ever Mr. Giles or Ms. Summers, but they were part of the Sunnydale legend.

"Hey kid." A hand affectionally ruffled her hair. "Calm down, or there's no more coffee for you."

Becky grinned up at the gorgeous, model-like red-head beside her. "Sorry Trish." Being a Slayer was a hard deal, but it would be a lot harder without Trish and Jo, her fellow Slayers who treated her like a little sister, it would be a lot harder.

"Are you ready?"

"Ready." Trish nodded at her Watcher, a haughty Quebecer by the name of Jules Fontaine. Once her fellow Slayers had murmured their assent, they crept towards the building.

Once there, Fontaine placed some C4 on the thick double doors. "Step back," he ordered in the exotically-accented voice she'd originally found sexy until she had got to know the annoyingly conceited French-Canadian. Once they'd all stepped back, Fontaine pressed on the detonator. The door imploded dramatically, propelling splinters into the building. "Inside!"

The three of them and their Watcher burst into the shadowy warehouse, rushing through the building. Trish's mouth dried with terror as she sensed the demonic presences surrounding them from all sides. Far too many for the small band they believed were here, maybe 25 – 30 in total. They were dead.

Forcing her trembling limbs to steady, she hefted her stake. She swore to sell her life as dearly as possible. A suited vampire stepped out of the shadows and smirked at them all in turn before speaking. "Kill them."

* * *

Hat Yai, Thailand 

Tears rolling down her cheeks and lungs heaving, Sunee pushed her aching body as she ran through the maze-like streets of one of Hat Yai's many shanty-towns, the fetid, heavy air making sweat pour off her. Her mind reeled as she thought about her friends, her fellow Slayers, slaughtered in a surprise attack on their home. Now, she sobbed deep in her throat as she careered around a narrow corner made even tighter by the refuse dumped there, she was alone and running.

Sunee screamed as the back of a rickety house exploded and an eight-foot biped lizard bounded out to block the way ahead. Sunee backed up as she looked up at the towering beast, her blood chilling as she saw the spade-sized hands that had dismembered her friends and the blood-stained fangs that had fed on their corpses.

Gathering her courage, she drew her sword. The lizard roared before charging her, its hand slamming into the side of head with such force as to break her neck.

* * *

Perth, Australia 

Arana smiled at her friends, the two white Slayers who were now closer to her than even her Aborigine friends. But then, she stifled a sigh, her childhood friends were part of her pre-Slayer life.

"You okay Arana?"

She nodded meekly at Louise, the daughter of one of Australia's most powerful businessmen. "I'm fine," she answered. How strange that some mystical power would pick her, a dirt poor Aborigine, and Louise, a wealthy white girl, two teens with nothing in common as its warriors.

But the gods had spoken and her people always obeyed. Duty was a harsh mistress sometimes. "Patrol was quiet tonight," commented Marie, the third of their trio, a buxom brunette who like Carol was three years older than her fifteen but was at least from a similar class as her.

"Yes it was," Louise agreed as they reached their Watcher's house, a three storey colonial house in Perth's comfortably middle-class suburbs. "Calm before the storm probably." Arana grimaced, silently agreeing with her companion's appraisal. "Anyway," Louise irritably flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder, Arana abstractedly wondered how anyone could ever be annoyed with hair that looked like flowing gold, "at least we're home now." Louise pulled her keys out of her Gucci purse, Arana smiled inwardly as she remembered her friend buying her one, an act of casual kindness that was so like her. She didn't care about Summers or Lehane, or any of the other Slayers, none compared to Louise in her book. "There it is!" The tall blonde slid the key into the lock and turned it. Arana heard a click, then another click, and then the ground shook as an eardrum-bursting explosion erupted from within their home.

The last thing she saw was a ball of fire rushing towards her.

* * *

Oslo, Norway 

Aud coughed, the blood that spurted from her mouth staining the crisp white snow she was laid upon. She shivered helplessly, pain shooting through her body at even the slightest movement but the biting cold winds whipping at her ensuring she didn't have a choice. She had to wonder what would kill her first, her wounds or the biting cold.

"ARR! YAR! GRR!" The ground shook under the gruff bellow. The shaking only increased under the approach of a pair of heavy feet pounding the ground.

"Well that," she coughed again and laughed weakly. "Answers that," seconds later, a sixteen foot tall, massively muscled man with craggy features and a long, swirling beard was stood above her.

"Little one!" her head thundered with the giant's boom. "You fight well, killed Magne's brother. But now," she shrieked as the giant roughly yanked her off the ground. Her head slumped into her chest, blood dribbling down her chest as she breathed rattlingly, unable to resist her adversary. "You die!" Her bones popped as the giant began to squeeze.

Her last thought as death engulfed her was that even knowing about vampires she'd have never guessed the old Norse legends were true.

* * *

Hamburg, Germany 

The combined smell of the sewage and salt wafting in from Hamburg's busiest port made Elke's nose wrinkle in disgust. Desperate to take her mind off the stench, she turned to her Watcher, a wiry man barely a couple of inches taller than her 5'5. "Dieter," she was careful to put a whine in her voice and a pout in her lips. "Why do we have to patrol here? It stinks!"

As usual her plea fell on stony ground. "Just because these people work in less than ideal circumstances does not mean they deserve protection from the forces of evil."

"But why do I have to-."

"Because Germany's other Slayers were assigned to other cities."

"And that," her heart stopped when a sleekly suited man, no not a man, a vampire, stepped out of the shadows ahead of them, flanked by a quartet of demons she recognised as Polgara demons from her studies. "Is why they MIGHT live through tonight. You on the other hand," the demon morphed out. "Will die. Kill them."

* * *

Santa Cruz, Bolivia 

Morela ran through the darkened streets, conscious of every noise, every footstep, every slammed door, every raised voice, her heart pounding in terror, images of her murdered Watcher flashing before her. A strangled sob escaped her, she'd loved Pepe, he'd taken her out of one of Bolivia's cramped orphanages, raised her as his own daughter, and in turn she'd loved him with a child's love. And now he was dead, sacrificing his own life so she'd have a chance to escape.

Seeing a ten foot wooden fence up ahead, Morela forced herself to concentrate, lengthening her stride as she powered over the fence. Hearing the sound of something whirling towards her, she raised her right hand to ward it off even as she looked towards her.

And screamed as a throwing star ripped through her fingers, chopping two off at the knuckle. Grace forgotten in a world of pain, she hit the dirt-packed ground face-first. It took her a second to steel herself to twist her head and stare in dazed disbelief at her mutilated hand, the blood pumping out of the stumps staining the ground. Gathering herself, she pulled herself up to her knees.

In time to see a double-bladed axe swing at her neck.

* * *

A Private Plane Over The Atlantic 

"MY GIRLS!" The red-head's body arched up, convulsing wildly as she burst awake from her fitful sleep. "They're killing my girls!"

In an instant Kennedy was by her lover's side. "Will," she whispered into the shaking witch's ear even as she struggled to hold down the wildly twitching red-head, shocked by her strength. "It's alright."

"It's not alright," fat tears rolled down Willow's eyes even as she babbled. "My girls! My girls!"


	5. 5

**FIC: The Ravages Of Hell (5?)**

"Gwen?" Angel blinked. "What are you doing here?"

"Rescuing you sugah," the thief purred.

"Who is this woman, Angel?"

Gwen glanced towards Groo and smirked. "This woman's too expensive for you, judging from your clothes. Shame," Gwen licked her lips before turning back to him. "Recognise the brat, but who's the body?"

"The brat!"

Angel motioned his son to silence. "Gwen, please," he pleaded. "What's going on here?"

The striking brunette's face turned serious. "Not here. Place has been compromised."

Angel nodded. He could already hear the approaching sirens. "Let's go."

* * *

"Gunn's dead?" Gwen couldn't believe it. The first, the only, man she'd ever been with, dead. 

"I'm afraid so," Angel confirmed. "Fred and Wes too." The vampire paused. "Are you alright?"

"Fine." Collecting herself, she nodded. "I heard a rumour about a hit being organised. I wasn't really interested until I heard another rumour about it being on a Champion. I did some digging and found you were in town, so I headed down to warn you."

"Thanks," the vampire said. "Any idea who organised it?"

"No, but it's big. Five million."

Connor whistled. "Wolfram & Hart?" the vampire's son suggested.

"Perhaps," Angel retorted. "But I'd think they'd have their hands full with putting themselves back together, internal power struggles, and the like."

"Then who?" Connor queried.

"I don't know."

* * *

New York 

Riley looked up from the reports he'd been given an hour ago, upon his arrival at a hidden bunker just off from an unused subway tunnel. "Is all this right?" he queried. "Am I reading this correctly?"

He was dismayed when Control nodded. "Ever since the closing of the Sunnydale Hellmouth, demonic activity has increased at an exponential ra-."

"Excuse me sir," Graham's voice echoed through the cavernous chamber. "Wouldn't closing the Hellmouth have cut down on the amount of demonic activity?"

"No," Control shook his head. "In point of fact," Riley hid a grin. It was phrases like that that made him wonder if the pudgy man they knew as Control was a former Watcher. "We think the Hellmouth acted as a sort of a magnet, drawing the significant players there. Now it's more widespread."

There was a few seconds of silence. "And the increase in natural disasters?" asked Sam, her face intent.

"The earthquakes, hurricanes, flash flooding, volcanoes, and avalanches are all indicators of Mother Nature attempting to fight back against hell's advances."

"Uh, uh." Ever the sceptic, Graham raised an eyebrow. "And of course you have proof?"

"Yes," Control nodded before reaching up to massage a chubby cheek. "A widely discredited prophet, Aramis The Eloquent -."

"Whoa," Graham interrupted. "Widely discredited, you," his friend looked over to him, "heard that right?"

"I heard that," Riley agreed.

He winced slightly at the glimmer in Control's eyes. If he was any judge a trap had been well and truly set and triggered. "Widely discredited because of his far-fetched apocalypse prophecy. Which," Control paused, possibly for dramatic effect, "has now come true."

Riley winced. "Let's hear it," he prompted.

Control read from the papers on the rickety desk between them. "At the mouth of hell, surrounded by many Slayers," Graham groaned theatrically at the mention of Slayers, "shall the ensoulled member of Aurelius die to save the world. And yet be reborn, only to finally die with a fallen Old One defending the world against The Wolf, The Ram, & The Hart." Control paled as he continued. "And one year from then shall the final battle commence."

"That vampire but would be William the Bloody, correct?" Control nodded. Riley winced, any prophecy mentioning Spike; that had to be bad news. "So what are we going to do?"

"The Council have been informed," Riley heard Graham swore under his breath. "You'll be on a flight to England in two hours."

While Graham continued to swear, Riley winced. Graham still held a grudge against Buffy for Forrest dying, refusing to accept that without the Scoobies they'd have all died. He on the other hand had long since made peace with his ex. It was his turn to swear as he realised something, Faith was another matter entirely.

* * *

"Oh crap." 

Noise washing out from the emptying clubs forced Faith to wakefulness. Groaning, Faith pushed herself up to her knees, conscious of the blood dripping down her face from a cut on her forehead. "Shit." She spat out a pair of teeth before using the near-by wall to drag herself to her feet, sobbing hysterically at the shakiness of her limbs. Noting something gleaming on the ground, she reached down and picked it up before stumbling off.

* * *

"Wood! Wood! Wood!" 

Wood groaned at the weak but insistent pounding on his hotel room door. His eyes bulged as they fell on the clock beside his bed. "Four-fifty?" he groaned. Faith was an amazing girl with plenty of great qualities, but her lack of discipline and dedication to her duties was appalling. What was worse was all the younger Slayers idolising her. "Faith! It's the middle of the night!"

"Please, Woodie, I need help!"

He suddenly recognised the pain and fear in his ex's voice. Leaping up, he hurried to the door and flung it open. He had a split-second to register the Bostonian's blood-stained face, her dilated eyes, and misshapen mouth before she fell into his arms. His eyes widened at the ornate dagger jutting out of her back, and the signet ring she'd dropped to the carpet. "Oh my god," he breathed. "The Order."

* * *

Heathrow Airport 

Kennedy glanced with concern at her girl-friend. During their flight the Wicca had begun to recover, regaining her colour and calm. Still, her eyes were still glazed over. "You feeling better honey?"

Her girl-friend nodded as they passed through passport control, their Council IDs ensuring them priority clearance. "I'll feel a lot better when we're at the Council Head Quarters."

"Then let's go."

Xander groaned as he fought his way back to consciousness, his head pounding. After counting to five he forced his eyes open. It took him a few more seconds before he was able to focus enough to see his Slayers peering down anxiously at him. He opened his mouth several times before finally managing to speak. "Whooy blihit meez?" The Slayers exchanged puzzled looks, he tried again. "Who hit me?"

Both Slayers flinched at his tone. Finally Rona spoke. "It was me."

"Damn it!" Pushing aside the vertigo, he struggled to his feet, and glared at both girls. "How could you?"

"Willow made us prom -."

"Damn it!" Xander slammed his fist into the wall of the cargo plane. He'd thought he'd finally escaped Sunnydale, that he was his own man. But no, he was still helpless Xander, who needed to be kept safe. His heart chilled. "What about Amy?" His companions failed to reply. "Answer me!" he exploded.

"S..she's dead."

Rona's answer hit him like a thunderbolt. Another Sunnydaler dead. When would it end?

* * *

Andrew rushed out of the cottage to throw up in the garden for the third time. Not that Giles blamed the lad. Even battle-hardened veterans were having trouble with the carnage, two of the Council psychics, and an empath were all receiving counselling. Another was in a coma. 

"What a mess," Giles sighed. For him the first shock had faded, to be replaced by his usual cool consideration. Far from all the writings had been translated as of yet, but those that had indicated something bad was on the way. No, something very bad.

"Mr. Giles?" he turned to see his pale-faced personal assistant. "It seems my manliness trai-."

"Quite alright Andrew," he soothed while all the time wondering what had possessed him to hire the nitwit in the first place. Oh yes, that was it, pity. "Completely understandable." The boy shuffled from foot to foot. "What is it Andrew?"

"Um, five minutes before you rang, Wood did. Apparently the Order," his blood chilled at this blast from the past, "attempted to murder the formerly rogue Miss LeHane. She survived but -."

"And you forgot to mention it until now?"

Andrew paled at his growl. "Well, with all -."

"I'm sure there's some job you should be doing." He dismissed Andrew from his thoughts as the little plonker scurried away. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his mobile and hurried dialled Wood's number. "Yes, Robin? I'm afraid I only just got the message. How is she?"

* * *

"Bella, are you sure about this?" 

Buffy glared at her boyfriend. "I tend to get snippy when people try and kill me."

"Oh, does she ever."

She ignored Dawn's mutter as they all clambered into the Immortal's spotlessly white sports car. "Who will have organised this hit?" she pressed, having already asked the question a number of times.

The Immortal sighed. "Very well. Don Franco runs all criminal activity in the country. He'll have supplied the hit-men if not actually ordered it himself."

"Why haven't you closed him down?"

The Immortal shrugged at Dawn's question. "My responsibilities over the supernatural side of the city leave me little time for more mundane evil-doers."

Buffy's eyes narrowed. "That changes now."

* * *

Oz glanced at his singing companion and smiled. "I suppose the extra two hundred I spent on the car radio was a waste." Turning his attention back to the road, Oz's brow furrowed as he considered the possible dangers awaiting them. If nothing else, things would be interesting. 


	6. Chapter 6

**FIC: Ravages Of Hell (6?)**

Prague

"They failed? All of them?"

Thomas grimaced and nodded at his leader's questions. They were in the Order's HQ, a dark, Spartan chamber three levels beneath the busy city, hidden from the metropolis' oblivious population. "All of them sir."

"Damn it!" Thomas was rocked by the fear in the eyes and voice of his normally stonily impassive leader. The Order's head took a long breath. "Double the price on all three."

Thomas' mouth dropped open. "Sir, that's thirty million dollars!"

"I'm well aware of the maths. Sell some more Microsoft and Yahoo stock," the leader shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

"But sir," he protested. "There isn't any prof-."

"Profit?" The Order chief shook his head again. "This isn't about profit. It's about survival." The leader's eyes shadowed. "When our new clients are finished there'll be a new order. Our living depends on us serving him well."

* * *

Duhsam took a swig of his drink, a heady combination of child's brains and virgin blood. Hearing a sound at the door of his penthouse apartment, he called out to his bodyguards. "Swenson! Platz! What's that?" Getting no response from his sentries, he sighed before placing his wine glass on his ornate coffee table, rising and striding towards the door. 

And crashed to the floor when the door flew open with sudden violence, hitting him in the face. Duhsam blinked when a powerfully-built vampire dressed in black strode in. "You know," the vampire smiled. "You seem to be under the illusion that you're somebody." The invader shook his head. "Big mistake."

Duhsam snarled and leapt to his feet. Snatching up a ceremonial, bejewelled sword off the wall, he charged towards the towering demon, executing a backhanded slash towards his opponent's throat.

His hand was grabbed in an implacable grip that try as he might he couldn't escape. He moaned as the vampire punched him in his heart under his right arm and doubled up when the demon drove his knee into his groin. He felt the vampire yank his sword out of his hand. He grunted as the vampire kicked him behind his knees, knocking him onto all fours. A white-hot pain lanced through his right hand as his opponent thrust his sword through it, impaling it to the ground. "That has got to hurt." He screamed when the vampire twisted the weapon. "Now, some information. Who ordered the hit on us?"

"I don't know! I just work as a middle-man for The Order of Teraka!" he screamed.

"Thanks." The last thing he saw was the coming up towards his head.

* * *

"The Order." Angel stepped away from the decapitated corpse of the Murdell Warlord, its yellow-green blood pouring out of its neck. "Didn't they learn the last time?" 

"What are we going to do father?"

"I'm leaning towards finding who ordered the hit and ripping their intestines out," Angel replied.

"Any idea how we're going to do that?" Gwen put in.

Angel nodded. "We'll wait for Lorne." Connor groaned. "What?"

"Tell me you're not going to sing?" Connor pleaded.

"Does Angel not have a champion's voice?" Groo queried.

"You have no idea," his son responded.

"Shut up Connor."

* * *

An airplane over the Atlantic Ocean. 

"Adele! Rachel! Martina!" Wood shouted as Faith bolted upright in the bed of the specially charted plane, her eyes wide from terror as she awoke from her coma. "Help me!"

The three Slayers leapt to their feet and hurried over. Before they got half-way there, Faith laid back down, her breath slowing, and her eyes regaining their focus. His ex's eyes snapped to him. "The assassins?"

He smiled reassuringly. "You killed them."

Faith took a rattling breath, some colour returning to her cheeks. "Where are we?" the Bostonian looked around. "In a plane? How long was I out?"

"Two days." Wood squeezed the Slayer's hand. "We're heading back to the Council. The moment Giles heard there was contract out on you, he ordered you back home for safety."

"Cool." Faith's lithe frame suddenly arched off the bed and her face contorted in pain. "Shit! Those bastards fucked me up bad!"

"But you're getting better now," he soothed. He thought it best not to mention that if the blade had been an inch further to the right, Faith's spinal cord would have been severed.

* * *

A military airfield, South of England. 

"Hello, Major Finn!" Riley blinked when a short country man of his saluted him and his companions as they disembarked from their cargo plane. "A pleasure to meet you sir! Andrew Wells, Mr. Giles' Personal Assistant at your service!"

Riley raised an eyebrow. Obviously Giles had started a scheme whereby the Council employed the mentally challenged. "And you have proof?"

"Of course!" The boy reached into his jacket.

"Not so fast."

The high-pitched youth's eyes widened when Graham levelled his automatic at him. "Sure." After gulping the youth took precisely thirty seconds to pull out a wallet and pass it over to him. The youth tittered nervously. "Of course you understand that after facing the terror of Evil-Willow and hordes of uber-vampires, a gun holds little fear."

Riley almost laughed. "That's good to know." After checking the boy's ID., he passed it back to his fellow country-man. "Lead the way."

* * *

Willow stopped as she climbed out of their taxi, filling with familiar awe as she stared at the looming, six-storey medieval keep, the age and magnificence of the building hitting her as always. Giles had bought the building for a cool thirty-five million dollars. But although the Head Watcher had torn the inside of the building apart, installing a gymnasium, small hospital, armoury, briefing rooms, canteen, dormitories, library, and a security system, on the outside it remained a daunting reminder of Britain's imperial past. "Let's get in." 

Suddenly the keep's double-doors flew open and a gleeful looking Giles bounded down the steps. "Willow! Kennedy! Guard security phoned ahead! It's wonderful to see you!"

Willow winced at Giles' yell, her head ringing. "Please, Giles," Kennedy reproved. "Willow's head isn't good."

"Good lord." Giles' face dropped, the joy of their reunion replaced by concern. "What's wrong?" The Englishman gently took her by her elbow and led her inside.

"Nothing much," Willow replied as they entered the vast hallway. "Visions of continent destroying earthquakes, tidal waves, waves of fire, and hordes of demons."

"Oh nothing much then," Giles hesitated. "Willow, the Coven -."

"I know," Willow winced. "I felt it. And there's more -."

* * *

A private airfield, South of England. 

"We're here." Rona shot Vi a worried look at Xander's answering grunt. Ever since his outburst upon his awakening, he hadn't said a word to them.

It wasn't fair. Rona scowled at the man's broad back as they followed him out of the plane. They'd done it because they cared. Like he did. They could have had a Watcher with little or no experience who treated them as little more than weapons.

Instead they'd got a friend, someone who treated them with respect that they could have fun with. Even without Willow's influence they'd have done anything to protect him.

If only he'd understand that.

* * *

Giles smiled as he received the call that Xander had landed. Willow had already arrived, Faith was on her way. There was just one person left. Buffy. 

Giles' face fell. He'd tried her earlier, but no reply. He only hoped it was because she was busy, not that she was dea-. Quelling such pessimistic thoughts he re-dialled the senior Slayer's phone number.

* * *

Buffy stared up at the plush apartments. "This Don Franco, he runs all the crime in Italy?" 

"Nothing happens without his say-so," the Immortal confirmed.

"In that case he's the one we see."

"What is the plan?" Michelle asked.

Buffy chuckled humourlessly. "I'm the plan." Her mobile rang. Grunting in frustration, she pulled it out. Eyes widening in recognition of the Caller Id., she quickly turned it on. "Yes Giles, we're sort of -." Her voice trailed off at her Watcher's terse interruption. "We'll be straight back." She turned to the others. "Change of plans. We're going to England."

* * *

Lorne's mouth dropped open as Angel sang 'Copacabana'. However evil Angelus might have been, he doubted that the vampire's crimes compared to the ensoulled demon's atrocities against cabaret. "Enough, enough," he waved the vampire to silence. 

"I can't read auras, but even I know the pop charts are not in your future," said Oz, a rare stunned look on his friend's face. "And I thought Brittney was bad."

Angel ignored Oz's comment to stare at him. "Well?"

"I see you've still got that patience problem," Lorne commented. He coughed at his former employer's glower. "We need to go to England. To the Watchers' Council."


	7. Chapter 7

**FIC: The Ravages Of Hell (7?)**

"Xander!"

Willow's spirits briefly rose at Xander's arrival in the Watchers' Keep only to plummet like a stone at the look in his eye. "Was it worth it?"

She took a nervous step back at the raw fury in Xander's eye. "Was what worth it?"

"Was treating me like I need to have my hand held worth Amy's life?"

Willow's eyes watered. "Xan-."

"You're so out of line!"

Xander's gaze snapped towards Kennedy. "Back off. This is family and you're not." His glare snapped back to her, making her shrivel inside. "Was going behind my back to guilt a promise out of Amy worth it?" Without waiting for an answer, her best friend turned on his heel and strode off.

"Xander!" Sobbing wildly, she collapsed into Kennedy's waiting arms.

* * *

Giles grimaced as he concluded his phone call. "Very well Angel," he sighed, swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth. "I'll have a jet at your location as soon as possible." 

Just as he hung up the phone, the door to his inner office swung open. His scowl turned to a beaming smile as he recognised the entering duo. "Faith! Robin! Please," he gestured towards the easy chairs at the other side of the desk, "sit down." He watched with concern as Faith gingerly eased herself into one of the offered chairs, unable to prevent a pained grunt from escaping her rosebud lips. "And how are you my dear?"

Faith's eyes widened at his concern before reverting to their customary nonchalance. "Getting better G," the young woman replied. "Be good to go in a couple of days. Slaying healing kicks ass."

"Excellent," he smiled at the Bostonian beauty before returning to business. "You're both to be commended for your efforts over the past two years."

Faith smirked at the praise. "Why the call back G?"

"Ah," he scowled. "It appears that we're under attack."

"The Council?" Wood queried.

"No," he shook his head. "The world itself."

* * *

Giles glanced around the briefing room, the portraits of legendary Council heads lining the walls, weighing down on him with their silent expectations. Forcing his trepidation down, he nodded towards Willow. "Willow, why don't you begin?" 

The Wicca took a breath. "Sure Giles." After a second the red-head's chair scraped backwards against the wood panelled floor. The world's most powerful magic-user stood, her face pale whether from nerves or the after-effects of her visions he couldn't tell. "Two days ago I had a series of visions – natural disasters on an unseen scale, hordes of demons rampaging over the world-."

"Our own seers haven't reported any such visions Miss Rosenberg, why have you had them?"

Giles hid a groan at Roger's scoffing tone. Whyndham-Pryce Senior had been the most experienced Watcher to survive the original Council's massacre and as such he'd been forced by the traditionalists to take Wesley's father on as his second-in-command. He wasn't overly concerned with the situation, Whyndham-Pryce was a vigorous man, but he was also over seventy. Roger and the other old guard would die out, to be replaced by the new breed – Willow, Xander, Robin, and their ilk. It was a cold blooded but necessary view. And a lot less cold-blooded than the way the Council had treated Slayers in the past. "Willow, please tell them."

The Wicca looked at him, her eyes shocked. He nodded encouragingly. After a second the witch started to speak. "Slayers don't get their powers from demons. They get them from Mother Nature."

"But what about the Shadow-Men?" Buffy asked, her face confused.

"No," Willow shook her head. "What you should be thinking about is the woman who gave you the Scythe. They knew the idea of imbuing a girl with the spirit of a demon was a bad idea, would turn her into something little better than the spirit-."

"You want to see Buffy around the 12th of the month," Dawn commented.

Buffy glared at Dawn. "Or Dawn at any time."

Shaking her head, Willow continued. "But they also knew that the men wouldn't listen -."

"No surprise there then," Faith put in.

"Oh wonderful," Giles rolled his eyes. In a moment they'd all be burning their bras. "Please god no," he muttered. At his time of life, his heart couldn't take the excitement.

"Instead they appealed to Mother Nature for help. She agreed and when the Shadow-Men cast the spell, they hijacked it and placed Mother Nature's power in the girl. Since then, Mother Nature has transferred her power from girl to girl. When I did the summonsing spell, I became as one with the earth and when the troubles started," Willow swallowed, her eyes shadowing, "I found out first hand."

There was a long silence. Then his second-in-command predictably exploded. "Why weren't we informed!"

"Because of your reaction perhaps?" he dryly replied. Seeing the older man's mouth open, he shook his head. "Now is not the time Roger," he warned. Turning his attention back to the room in general. "Xander's team-."

Xander snorted. "That's a joke."

Wondering at his son's attitude, Giles continued. "Xander's team brought The Tomes of Talik," Willow, Robin, and Roger all paled, the others looked puzzled, "back from Africa. Coupled with Willow's visions, and some information Riley brought with him, I believe we are the end of days. Drazus' return."

"And for those who don't have a clue what the hell you're talking about?" Faith asked.

Giles smiled at the Bostonian Slayer, relieved to see that even in the two short days since her arrival she'd completely recovered from her injuries. "Hell's hierarchy is complex. At the bottom are The Snarling Brethren, tens of millions of demons. Then there are the Nightbreed Legions, hell's elite troops. Next come the Doom Dukes, the Legions' leaders. Next come the Old Ones, and finally Drazus, Satan's first lieutenant and the leader of his forces. They will conquer the world for him."

"Doesn't the Well holding the Old Ones have a guardian?"

Giles nodded at Wood's question even as he wondered at Angel's vaguely uncomfortable expression. "Yes. Drogyn has been contacted. But strangely has not replied."

"He's dead."

Giles blinked at Angel's flat declaration. "Oh really? And how can you be sure?"

"The Circle of Black Thorn," Giles was shocked by the demon's rare nervous expression. "I killed him to prove I was evil so they'd accept me. He was doomed anyway-."

"You blithering idiot!" Giles roared, unable to believe the vampire's utter stupidity. "Angelus on his worst day couldn't match that! Why not just give the Old Ones the keys to the bloody place!"

"Giles," Willow broke in, her eyes pleading. "The plan?"

"Yes," Giles shot Angel a last angry look before nodding. "It appears our enemy has made their first moves," Giles grimaced. "Not only have the Order targeted Buffy, Faith, and Angel, but it appears they've also been attacking the world's major magical powers."

"You mean the Devon Coven?"

He nodded at Dawn's interjection. "Yes. But not only them. The Romany Witch women," he flinched inwardly as he remembered Jenny's soulful eyes and knowing smile, "were butchered. The Darkening Twilight in Haiti, the world's most powerful Voodoo practioners massacred. The Unbroken Circle of Hoodoo practioners in the Congo annihilated. The Grand Covent of highland druids have all been killed as have the Shamen of the Native American tribes. Close to three hundred of the world's most powerful mages and witches, all dead."

After a second allowing the news to sink in, he continued. "As a consequence I alerted all Slayers three days ago and ordered them back to their respective home bases. At this point, here has sixty-one Slayers, Cleveland fifty-five, Rio fifty, Tokyo forty-six, and Cairo thirty-eight."

Andrew looked up, his eyes flooding with alarm. "That's only 250 Slayers, what about," the young man looked through his notes, "the other ninety-six?"

Giles hid a wince at the youth's question, the mantle of leadership pushing down on him. "Some of them are on their way in, but others haven't responded to the call.." Seeing Willow's mouth open, he discreetly shook his head, deciding the others didn't need to know about the Slayer massacres just yet.

A long silence followed his pronouncement. "Screw this reacting bs," Faith put in. "How about we start taking names and kicking some ass?"

Giles smiled wryly at the Bostonian's enthusiasm. Ah to be that young again. "Yes, quite. It appears the prophecy works somewhat like a jigsaw puzzle. If one part of it fails to come true, the whole thing collapses."

"Which are we fixing to stop G-Man?"

Giles looked towards Xander. "The Tome of Talik details The Three Tridents Of Tariq-."

"Shit, that's a bagful of Ts."

He waited for the titters that followed Faith's comment to die down before continuing. "Quite. The prophecy details that at the end of days, the rising of the Old Ones could be prevented by the placing of the Tridents in the Cauldron of Prometheus, re-sealing their tomb forever."

A long pause followed his words. "So where are these tridents Giles?" Buffy asked.

"I know the locations of all three books containing the information leading to the Tridents. I'll give the information to all three team leaders before I send them – you, Faith, and Angel." He paused to look around the room, heart tightening with fear that it would be the same time he would see them all alive. Regaining his poise, he continued. "Buffy, you'll take the Immortal, Michelle, and Sophia. Angel, your team will consist of Connor," fascinating boy, "the Groosalug and Gwen." The same could also be said about the demon's other companions. He turned towards the east coast beauty. "Faith, your party will consist of Kennedy, Vi, and Rona."

"And what will the rest of us be doing?" Robin demanded.

"Don't worry," he dryly replied. "We'll all be busy. Thanks to Angel and Faith we have proof that the Order is behind the attempt on their and Buffy's lives. I also suspect them of complicity in the murder of the magical groups. The Council has never dared to directly confront the Order, but then the Council has never had the power it does now." He ignored his second in command's fuming. "I intend to send a group under the joint command of Xander and Robin, and consisting of Oz and a dozen Slayers to snuff them out."

"And the rest of us, oh mighty leader?"

He rolled his eyes at Andrew's pretentious enquiry. "I'm putting Riley, Sam, and Graham in charge of security and training the Slayers and Operations troops. Roger," he nodded towards the older Watcher, "will be put in charge of the Keep's day to day running. Willow will research magic, while myself, Andrew, and Dawn will handle planning and -."

"I want to -."

"Please Dawn," he stared at the pouting teen. How beautiful she'd become over the past two years. "Do me the great favour of pretending you're not related to Buffy and just agree."

"Hey!" Both sisters shouted in unison.


	8. Chapter 8

**FIC: The Ravages Of Hell (8?)**

Giles looked around his plush office and allowed himself a contented smirk. It was obvious that there was something very wrong with Xander, but at least all of his four children were safe. However momentary that safety might be.

He glanced out of the window behind him and down onto the keep's carefully tended grounds. It was a beautiful spring day, the sort that England always seemed to tease before inevitably descending into a drizzly, dour summer. Still, after years of monotonously sunny California weather, it was a welcome change. And his office was rather more spacious than his confined Sunnydale quarters.

The office door crashed open. Giles turned to face from the interloper, his good mood fading as he recognised the older Watcher. "It's obscene!" Roger began.

"Calm down and take a seat," Giles ordered, his tone mild.

"A vampire, a werewolf, and a demon!" His older country-man continued unabated, striding back and forth across his hand-weaven carpet. "After centuries fighting the forces of evil, you invite them in the front bloody door!"

Giles slammed his fists into the desk between them and half-rose out of his leather upholstered chair. "I said sit the bugger down!" Once the older Watcher had grumpily acquiesced, he followed suit, his eyes fixed on the other man.

He realised now that the man had so intimidated him thirty years ago, when he'd restarted his training after the Egyhon incident, was a little man. For all his power and influence Roger Whyndham-Pryce was a resounding failure. None of the four potentials he'd mentored as a younger man had been called, Giles wondered idly if the Powers That Be picked the Watchers as well as the Slayer. His son was a great disappointment to Roger, although from what he understood Wesley had accomplished many great things during his time with Angel. Pryce had even failed in his attempts to become Council Head, first Travers, and then himself thwarting him in that.

These failures had combined to define Pryce, making him a twisted, bitter bully of a man. After another second Giles deigned to reply to the older Watcher's outburst. "I have little love for the vampire, but one would have to be blind or stupid to ignore this efforts over the past few years. The werewolf is a fine young man who fought at our side for two years. And the demon," Giles shrugged. "There appears little harm in him."

"Centuries of tradition-."

"Tradition be damned!" he interrupted the older man's protestations. "Buffy was the least traditional Slayer in memory," except perhaps Faith, but her early exploits made a less than ideal example. "Buffy wasn't brought up in seclusion. She had family. She had friends. Things the Council decreed as detrimental to a Slayer. And yet she slayed two of the three oldest vampires in existence, defeated any number of minor demons, an Ascended, a hell-goddess, and the First."

"Yes," by now Roger's face had reddened and his eyes hardened. "We're all aware of your emotional attachment to the Summers girl."

Giles felt his temper bubble at the way Roger had managed to make his fatherly affection for Buffy sound somehow dirty. "Yes, I feel a certain amount of parental pride," he replied, his tone even and his face set. "Speaking of which," he reached into his desk drawer and placed five journals on the desk. "I think you might want to read these. They're rather enlightening."

His titular second in command glared suspiciously at the neatly stacked books. "What are they?"

"They're the diaries of a remarkable young man, detailing how he escaped the grasp of his tyrannical father and grew from a weak-willed coward to a hero." He savoured the confused look on his fellow Watcher's face for a second before continuing. "Angel brought them with him for the Council library."

Understanding dawned in his country-man's eyes. Roger rose, a scowl on his face and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. "That would be a no then?" Giles called out after his counterpart before sitting back and chuckling. "There's no talking to some people."

* * *

"Were you even going to talk to me?" 

Angel paused in his packing to look up at the tiny blonde stood in the doorway of the guest he'd been assigned. Pushing away the fist clenching at his chest, he replied. "I wasn't planning to."

He turned back to his packing only to be grabbed by the arm and spun around to face his ex's angry face. "Two years Angel! You can't just ignore me! And," his girl-friend's eyes flickered angrily, "why didn't you tell me about Spike?"

Oh, that was it. Forcing down the wave of jealousy that threatened to swamp him, he shrugged. "Why? Would you have come running? For him?"

Buffy's eyes widened. "You're jealous?" the blonde finger-jabbed him in the chest. "You lost all rights to be jealous when you walked out on me!"

"I'm not jealous," he replied through gritted teeth. "I left because I couldn't give you what you deserved. A normal relationship. So what do you do?" now he was unable to prevent the bitterness he felt from entering his voice. "Take up with a farmboy with a Captain America complex, a soulless vampire, and an immortal Italian gangster! Great record there, Buffy!"

"I wanted you!" Buffy's eyes filled with pain.

"Sometimes," he remembered the day he'd sacrificed his second chance at humanity to ensure he'd still be able to protect her. "It isn't about what what you want. It's about what's right. I'd have thought you'd have learnt that by now." Buffy stared open-mouthed at him for a few seconds before turning on her heel and storming out, slamming the door behind her. "I love you," he wistfully muttered after the young woman.

* * *

A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. His sense of smell told him who it was without looking up. "Come in Lorne." 

"Well thanks Angelcakes," the demon entered.

Angel smiled unwillingly at his friend. "I've missed being called a selection of pastries. Tell anyone that and I kill you."

The Host giggled. "Okay cupcake." There was a pause. Angel turned to face a suddenly serious Lorne. "You and the blonde pocket dynamo?"

"Never ever let Buffy hear you call her that. Otherwise your mom will be down one disgraced son," Angel chuckled before sobering. "I love her, but we're bad for each other."

"She's no Cordelia, but hey, no one will ever replace my princess for me," Lorne shrugged before brightening. "Hey, you and Connor, you're a regular Mr. Cunningham and Ritchie aren't you?"

"Things are tough," Angel smiled. "But we're working at it." He turned serious. "Lindsey?"

"Dead and dead, boss." Lorne sighed. "I didn't like doing it, but he couldn't be trusted."

"Yeah, he'd turn bad again if someone offered him enough power or looked at him wrong," Angel shook his head. He preferred his enemies like Lillah, sneaky, underhanded sure, but at least you knew where you stood with her. Lindsey had too much knowledge and power to be given countless chances. Unlike Faith who'd made a mistake, sought and stuck to redemption, Lindsey kept returning to the dark side even after the chances he'd been given. He'd never learn.

* * *

"Hi Will, how are you?" 

The red-headed Wicca looked up from her studies and smiled at the former Key. "Hi Dawn."

Dawn's face screwed up in concern. "What's wrong? Have you had another vision?"

"What?" Red sounded bemused. "No."

"Well you've been crying," Dawn accused. The Witch's mouth opened. "Don't deny it. I can see the dried tears. And don't try to wriggle out of talking."

Willow chuckled. "Giles was right. You are just like Buffy." The Witch fell silent for a few seconds. "You heard about Amy?" Dawn nodded. "I used her guilt about Sunnydale to make sure she'd look after Xander no matter what. Her protecting Xander got him killed. And," Willow looked down at the floor. "Xander found out., And you know how he hates it when we try to protect him. Now he won't even speak to me."

"Oh Willow," Dawn took the sobbing witch in her arms.

Faith glared as she watched from the shadows. This wasn't right. And part of being a Slayer was righting wrongs. Coming to a decision, she glided out of the library, a set look on her face.

* * *

Faith watched through the crack in the doorway as an oblivious Xander packed. She had to admit she was impressed. Gone was the awkward teenager she'd once boned or even the fat young man she remembered from her second run through Sunnydale. In their place stood a tanned, muscled man with an air of competency and danger. "Not bad at all," she muttered. 

Quelling her baser urges, like they'd ever done anything except kept her in trouble, she shoved the door open. "You're a real asshole Harris!"

The one-eyed man looked up from his packing to glare at me. "Excuse me?" Harris glanced at the doorway she'd just barged through. "And thanks for knocking." Harris' lips curled up in an unxanderlike sneer. "Seems you really learnt some better manners in the joint."

Faith raised an eyebrow, unfazed by the comment. "Sure I have," she retorted. "You've still got both your arms haven't ya?" she smiled winningly for a second before turning serious. "Red's really hurting because of y-."

"And this concerns you how?" Xander interrupted coldly.

"It bugs me when my buds are-."

Her host interrupted her with a laugh. "Then you should be five by five," he mocked, his one eye hardening. "Because we've never been buds. After all it's just skin."

Faith hid a wince at the less than subtle reminder of her inglorious past but ploughed on. "Whatever X," she shook her head. "But you and Red are the real thing. And you can't wreck it over some little fight."

"Little fight?" Xander's remaining eye filled with disdain that hit her like a punch in the guts. "Someone died because of me. To a killer like you," this time she couldn't stop from flinching, "that might not be a big deal, but it is to me. Now unless you've got something else to say, get out!"

Defeated, Faith could only stare dumbfounded at the man before nodding. "Sure X," she whispered. "Good luck with your mission and be safe. See ya." For want of anything else to say, she left.


	9. Chapter 9

**The Ravages Of Hell (9?)**

Xander looked at his street map of Prague and shook his head in despair. "I can't make sense of this!" he exclaimed. "It might as well be in Swahili!" He paused for a second. "Except I can actually read that!"

"You can?"

He turned to Oz stood beside him on the busy street corner. "And three other tribal languages. I kinda got sick of being the village idiot."

"And they say thing never change."

He glared at Oz. "Enough with the wit," he retorted. "We'd best get back to the others." The werewolf sighed. "What's up?"

"Twelve women."

"Yeah," Xander nodded in understanding. "Funny how the reality never matched our dreams of being out-numbered by gorgeous women."

"I never dreamt that."

Xander looked warily at Oz. "Gorgeous men?"

Oz smiled slightly. "Winning a Grammy."

* * *

Angel realised that Connor was talking. Shaking himself out of his deep reverie, he turned to his son sat beside him on the Council executive jet. "Sorry?" 

Connor chuckled. "For a master vampire, your hearing sure sucks." His son's grin widened. "Sucks! Get it?"

Angel rolled his eyes. "I got it. You've not been talking to Xander Harris." He smiled slightly at his son's bemusement. "What did you say?"

"Yeah," Connor looked embarrassed. "That Buffy's kinda small isn't she?"

"What do you mean?"

"The way you and Wes used to talk about her, I sorta expected some muscle-bound amazon. But her?" Connor shook his head. "She beat both Angelus and Faith?"

Angel chuckled, amused rather than offended by his son's doubt. "Some think you're just a scrawny kid."

Connor smirked. "But they only think that 'til I kick their ass." His son's face sobered. "How did it feel, seeing her again?"

Angel leaned back in his seat, his lips pursed in thought. That was the million dollar question. He'd been so disappointed in her lowering herself to Spike and then there was his love for Cordelia. But seeing her again had been like a stake through the heart. Finally he replied. "I don't know son. I don't know."

Connor sighed. "I'm disappointed."

Angel's brow furrowed. "Disappointed?"

"Two and a half centuries and you still don't have the answers."

Angel shook his head. "Son, Methuselah never understood women. Don't expect me to."

* * *

"How did it feel bella?" 

Buffy glanced at the Immortal, considering his question even as she examined him. He was a tall man – although not as tall as Angel. Handsome too, although not as good looking as Angel. "How did what feel?" she replied.

The Italian chuckled before rubbing the bridge of his Roman nose. "Seeing him again?"

Buffy stared at her boyfriend, remembering the less than happy reunion. "Difficult," she finally replied. Yes, that was definitely the word.

* * *

"I heard you got caught up in the middle of a Scooby brawl?" 

Faith tore her eyes from the breath-taking view of night-time Rio and to her fellow brunette Slayer. Man, back in the day she'd never have dreamed to get out of Boston's south side, much less get to Rio. "You got bunny ears Ken?"

"Oh, I hear everything," Kennedy strode over to stand beside her on the balcony.

"Must be nice," Faith hated herself for the unavoidable bitterness she heard in her own voice. "Being on the inside like that."

Kennedy chuckled. "I'm not on the inside, just dating someone who is."

"Doesn't it bother you?" Faith asked, suddenly curious. "X and B being closer to Red than you?"

"Xander?" her companion shook her head. "No, he saved my life and always treated me with respect. But Buffy," her fellow Slayer's eyes flickered, "the way that bitch sneers at us all."

Faith chuckled, remembering her first time in Sunnydale. "She's wicked good at sneering. Olympic sport – gold all the way."

"And I think she was Willow's first lesbian crush."

"Oh yeah?" Faith smirked. "Given me an interesting image there Ken."

Kennedy bumped her with her hip. "Shut up. How come you care so much?"

Faith glanced down at the carnival city, taking a second to soak in the flashing lights and the sound of the beating drums. How did she explain never having a friendship like Red and X's? How she'd never had anyone want her for her, someone she could trust from the day she could walk like Red and Xan trusted one another. Finally she shrugged. "Friendship's important."

Kennedy shot her an all-knowing look, kinda like those Fang had used when she'd tried to bullshit him during a prison visit. "And Xander didn't react too well did he?"

Faith chuckled humourlessly. "Guy doesn't like me much," she replied.

"And that bothers you?"

Faith shrugged, as usual unwilling to share her feelings. Truth was when she'd returned to Sunnydale, she'd have been wicked scared at what the Scoobies would think. Well not B, as far as she was concerned the arrogant bitch wasn't the sort of person she wanted to be friends with. But the others were good people. G had accepted her back and so had Red, she guessed it guessed it was the shared evil pasts. But X on the other hand….

Even before Fang, Xand had been the first guy to try and be a friend for no other reason than she'd needed one. Of course, suspicious bitch that she was she hadn't taken him up on the offer. The night he'd come to comfort her about Finch, she'd figured he was trying to work an angle to try and blackmail her into bed and after years of abuse she'd decided she wasn't going to be used anymore. Next thing she knew she was strangling him. Ironic thing was she'd intended to let the poor bastard go once she'd scared the piss out of him. But then Fang had rushed to the rescue. And then the Council had got involved and things had spiralled out of control.

When she'd gone back to Sunnyd, she'd meant to apologise to Harris she really had. But having no experience in saying sorry, her nerve had failed her. She'd gone to see him half a dozen times in the month following the Last Battle of Sunnydale, but one look at his glazed, grief-stricken face and she'd back off, telling herself next time.

And the thing of it was, the kind of a guy X was he would have willingly accepted her apology, but now he thought she didn't give a shit. "I ain't known many good guys." She sneered. "Most are louses like Spike, can't get their eyes off my tits for long enough to look me in the eye. When a good one like Xan doesn't like me, it pisses me off."

"Uh, uh." Again Kennedy shot her that knowing look, which was starting to piss her off a little. "How about we go down to the beach, give me a chance to leer at some bikinied beauties?"

"Sounds like a plan." Faith grinned at her shorter companion, her good mood returning. "Oh Ken, I'm hurt," she slowly ran her tongue over her bottom lip. "I thought I was enough woman for ya. I've even got this wicked black g-string I could model for ya!"

Kennedy laughed. "Thanks for the offer, but I know you're straight. It sort of ruins the fantasy when you know that and you're trying to imagine yourself with a girl."

"You know I'm straight?" Faith arched an eyebrow. "First time I was in Sunnyd, half the male population thought I had a zen for B. Sick bastards."

"Yeah right," Kennedy snorted. "You'd have to be not only gay but a masochist too."

"Truth." Faith grinned at her fellow Slayer. Kennedy shared her dislike of B? Definite basis for a friendship. "Should we get Vi and Rona?" she suggested.

"And spend all night talking shop?" Kennedy shook her head. "Don't think so. And that bikini you mentioned." Her fellow Slayer grinned. "I wouldn't mind a look."

"Knew you couldn't resist!" Faith laughed. She had thought Kennedy was just another spoilt bitch playing at hero, but she seemed pretty cool. "Give me a minute."

* * *

Hearing a knock on his office door, Giles looked up from his work. "Enter!" 

After a second the door swung open and Riley and his group entered. "Mr. Giles," Riley greeted.

"Please Riley," he waved a hand. "Back in Sunnydale it was Giles. Despite our relative promotions we're still the same people, Giles is more than adequate."

The Iowan farmboy smiled. "Thank you, Giles."

He smiled back at the youth. The soldier was a good man, loyal, dependable, and brave, only an American soldier true, but nobody was perfect. He'd never met Riley's wife, but given the reports he'd read he judged her to be a very talented demon hunter. As was Mr. Miller, although Graham's continuing disdain for Slayers was a worry. "Please take a seat." Once the three soldiers had obeyed, he continued. "I suppose you're wondering why I requested you be sent here?"

"No," it was Graham who replied, his tone flat. "We just follow orders."

Giles chose to ignore the lack of warmth in the younger man's voice. "For five thousand years there has been a Council of some sort. China, Assyria, Egypt, Greece, Rome, and Britain, the Council had always been based in the era's great civilisation," which explains why they've always avoided America. "But always before there was several hundred Watchers to one Slayer. But now there are hundreds of Slayers," well there was until a few days ago. Pushing that distressing thought aside, he continued on. "And rather less Watchers than before. Now, instead of one Watcher to a Slayer, we have one Watcher running teams of 3 – 5 Slayers."

"I'm sorry Giles, but we're more than happy with our current posts."

"No, no," he shook his head at Riley's comment. "You misunderstand me. Much as you would all," he directed his gaze towards Mr. Miller, assuring the young man that this included him, "be welcome I can only applaud your loyalty. I merely illustrated my organisation's history to give you an understanding of the recent and radical changes the Council has undergone."

"It must have been hard Giles?" Riley queried. "Modernising the Council?"

"Yes," Giles agreed. It had been terribly difficult. First there'd been the laborious process of sorting out the Council's finances, finding a new base, recruiting former and new Watchers to his cause, and finding the new Slayers. Next had come the re-organisation, stripping away the old ways that had treated Slayers as weapons rather than people. Without Buffy, Willow, and Faith's back-up, the hard-liners would have won the day. As it was, he'd been forced to exhibit Ripper's ruthlessness, make a few examples. "At times it makes me yearn for simpler," he smiled wryly, "although more adrenalin filled days."

"And what do you need us for sir?"

Giles noticed how Graham had discarded his request to call him 'Giles'. Ignoring that, he continued. "Did you notice the strange shape of the estate's outer wall?" Seeing the others' confused expressions, he explained further. "The original owner and builder of this estate was Earl Thomas Greene. In addition to being an exemplary warrior and accomplished politician, the Earl was also an occultist and alchemist of some considerable note. To that end he designed this place in the shape of a white arts pentagram. Should any evil demon enter these grounds they'll be overcome with a debilitating feeling of dread. The really clever thing is that the more powerful the demon, the greater the effect. Of course this magic only works to a demon of certain level. It wouldn't hold against something the strength of an Old One."

"You want us to fight the Old Ones for you?"

"Good lord no," he shook his head at Mrs. Finn's question. "The only one of us who could possibly withstand an Old One is Willow and then only in an one and one confrontation. If the Old Ones escape from the Deeper Well, we've lost."

A long silence followed his proclamation. "Then what do you want us to do Giles?" Riley demanded.

"Given the co-ordinated attacks on Buffy, Faith, and," he was unable to prevent a sneer, "Angel, there will inevitably be a full-on assault here. My girls have experience at fighting all manner of demons -."

"But not organised humans?" Sam interjected. "But why didn't Earl Greene make the pentagram include humans?"

"With evil demons there is no grey area, only black. With humans," he shrugged. "Who amongst us hasn't done evil?" he shrugged. "Lied, cheated, said something just to hurt someone? People can have dark pasts and yet be good, Willow, Faith, and I are proof of that."

After a second Riley nodded. "Okay, let's talk defences and strategies."

* * *

Whyndham-Pryce fumed as he stalked his apartment. "Abomination!" he scowled. Once the Council had stood for something – honour and discipline. 

And then that bastard Rupert Giles had been allowed to return to the Council after his disgraceful desertion. If not for the influence of Giles' grand-mother and father, his 'Ripper' phase would have ended his Watcher career before it began. And then Travers, who really should have known better, had been sufficiently impressed by the whippersnapper's apparent diligence, to send him to be Miss Summers' second Watcher.

That was the point where things had really begun to go wrong. First the stupid pillock had ignored age-old traditions to allow Summers to have friends who not only knew about her Calling, but also aided her in Slaying. Worse still was her disgusting relationship with the vampire Angel. If not for the forged reports Mr. Giles had filed at the time, the blonde would have been taken care of by the Council wetworks team during the Angelus fiasco.

And then the nefarious bastard's influence had spread to Roger's own son, his heart tightened with shame, causing the boy's inevitable downfall with that Lehane slapper. Even worse was the boy's subsequent servitude to the damn vampire, heaping yet more disgrace on his once esteemed family name. Eleven generations of Watchers, stretching back three hundred years, ruined by Giles.

When the original Council had been destroyed he'd expected to be installed as the new Council head. After all he had over a decade more experience over the nearest candidate. Instead the modernists had championed Rupert to the position of Head Watcher.

"Bloody hell," he muttered. The ruination of the Council and his own family was solely down to one man. Roger smiled bitterly. But soon the bastard would pay.

* * *

Willow looked around the hushed, shadowy library, the greatest known collection of occult tomes stacked on the vast room's shelves. In one corner Dawn and her team worked, the former key's uncanny language skills aiding her in translating the books of long-dead civilisations. In another Andrew worked with a couple of demon-language experts translating extensive selection of demonic texts. She herself was leading a trio of Wiccas fortunate enough to be working with the Council rather than the Devon Coven in reading the magic books, looking for any edge. 

"Oh no."

Heart clenching at Dawn's rattling whisper, she looked to see the teen staring back at her, her friend's face an ashen-grey. "What's up Dawnie?"

Her eyes wide, Dawn swallowed before speaking. "I know why the Order are after my sister, Angel, and Faith."

Willow stared at the former key, confused. "But we already know that," she said finally. "To stop them from getting their Tridents."

"No," Dawn shook her head. "Anyone can get the tridents, but only the three chosen champions can use them."

It took a second for what Dawn was saying to sink in. "So even if we have the Tridents-."

"Without all three champions we're screwed," Andrew put in, the youngster's face a matching grey.


	10. Chapter 10

**FIC: Ravages Of Hell (10?)**

Angel looked around, noting the flickering neon lights, gleaming buildings, and flash sedans. "Moscow's changed since I was last here."

"When was that?"

Angel glanced at his son shivering in his fur coat beside him. "1880," he replied. As Angelus. He, Darla, and Drusilla had cut a bloody swathe through the snow-swept capital. The demon inside him roared at the memory, he forced it back down.

"Was it cold then?" he nodded. His son snorted. "Not that much change then."

Angel chuckled as he continued to look around, noting the falling snow, draping the city in a white blanket. He was grateful that he didn't feel the cold but wished he could breathe in the crisp air. "Where do we go from here?"

That sounded suspiciously like a line from a really bad song. He glanced behind to the Groosalug. "Oleg Petrov is a businessman owning an auction house, a museum, and an art gallery. His less reputable businesses include a pole-dancing club that he hangs out at every night. He is also Russia's premiere occultist, so we're going to go see him." Which was why he'd left the vociferously complaining Gwen at home, he didn't need her jumping on a table to show off.

"At his club?" he nodded. Connor beamed. "Have I told you how much I love the fact you're my father?" Angel shook his head. It appeared the apple hadn't fallen too far from the tree.

* * *

"Xander, can I have a word?" 

Xander looked up from his inspection of his newly-purchased Prague street map and towards his room door. "Sure Wood." After a second the door swung open and the muscular African-American strode in. "I've been going through the plans," Xander babbled, nervousness at being put in charge of this mission instead of Wood filling him. "I figure we have Oz change in downtown Prague, create a disturbance there, draw the cops away from us. Meanwhile we'll have broken into this laundry that cleans uniforms for the hotel -."

"That's great Xander," the former principal interrupted. "But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

Xander's stomach hollowed. "What's happened? Has Buff-."

"No, no," Wood shook his head. "It's not about her." Xander relaxed, tension leaving his shoulders. "It's about Faith."

"Oh yeah," Xander stared at his fellow Watcher. "The Order get her?"

"No," the black man took a breath. "I heard about your argument with Faith. You were out of line."

His nervousness replaced by a familiar, slow-burning anger, Xander clenched his jaw. "Sticking up for your girl-friend is all very noble, but this is none of your business."

"She's not my girl-friend, we're just friends."

Xander laughed. "First off, Faith doesn't have friends, just people he screws. And if you're trying to impress your way back into her bed, there's easier ways. Buying her a brewski will do it."

Wood stiffened. "She's changed. She cares about you, about all of you."

Again Xander laughed. "Whatever. Let me make myself clear. A girl died because of this conspiracy to protect the weak one," the bitterness in his throat was almost choking. "Well that's it, I'm out. I'm sick of being treated as useless. This is the last mission and I'm only doing this for the innocents. Once this is over, I'm taking the money Anya left me and disappearing."

Wood gaped at him. "Harris, you're making a big mistake."

Xander turned back to the map, as far as he was concerned the conversation was over. "Do you want to see where I am with the plan?"

* * *

"Ya ready Ken?" 

"Ready?" the shorter Slayer exited her hotel room wearing a black sarong over a g-string and matching black bikini top that matched her outfit. "Where are we going?"

Faith grinned at her new friend. "Stop drooling." She chuckled at her fellow warrior's playful glare. "I figure we go down to the beach. That way you can check out the honeys and I can check out the studs."

"Works for me," Kennedy chuckled. "Check out the studs huh? You don't know what you're missing."

Faith raised an eyebrow. "I'll take that chance."

* * *

"They've gone." 

Her companion looked at her. "Are we going to let them get away with this?"

She laughed at her best friend's comment. It was so like her. "No we're not."

Her friend grinned. "Good answer."

* * *

"Yo! Nice pecs big guy!" Faith hollered at a coffee-skinned hunk of a man. Man, the Copacabana had to be the best place in the whole goddamn world. Weather warm enough to allow you to wear nothing but swimwear at night, wicked carnival music, and, Faith's smirk widened, a shit-load of speedo-wearing studs. 

"You think you could do that?" Kennedy nodded to their right.

Faith looked over to see a bearded, pot-bellied man was juggling dangerously sharp meat-cleavers. "Five?" she snorted. "I could do seven."

"Oh yeah," Kennedy grinned. "I could do eight."

"Is that right?" Faith laughed. This was kinda like the competitive friendship she'd hoped for when she'd discovered there was another Slayer. "That sounds like a challenge to me." Faith glanced at her companion. "You wanna?" Kennedy's widening smirk was all the answer she needed.

Still chuckling, Faith swaggered towards the beach entertainer intending to charm his blades off him. "Shit!" Her eyes widened when the juggler suddenly began flinging knives at her and Ken. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Kennedy dive away from the cleaver flung at her.

Faith chose to take a more direct approach. Snatching the cleaver flung at her out of the air, she threw it back at her assailant. "You lose something?"

The knife imbedded itself in their attacker's throat. His eyes widening in shock, the knife thrower reached up to pull out the dagger even as blood pumped out of the wound. As his hands grabbed hold of the blade's hilt, he fell to his knees, his eyes now dimming with impending death. A half-second later, he fell face-first into the sand, his blood staining the beach.

"What was that about?"

Faith glanced at her shaken companion. "Order assassins," Faith guessed. She glanced around, noting the gathering crowd and the approaching sounds of sirens. "We best get out of -. What the fuck!" She grunted as she hit the ground, spitting out the white sand that had got into her mouth, twisting her head to glare at her fellow brunette led on her. "Jesus, Ken, I'm know I'm easy, but not even a dinner or a movie first?"

Kennedy opened her mouth but before her fellow Slayer had chance to comment, the starlit night was filled with the sound of gunfire and the surrounding beach-goers began convulsing wildly, blood vomiting from their bodies as they fell to the ground. Faith tore her eyes from the dying innocents to see a trio of motor-cycling thugs heading towards them, their uzis spitting death. "Oh crap."

* * *

Toyko, Japan. 

Buffy stared around the sprawling metropolis around her, taking in the towering buildings, the flashing neon signs, the continual screech of traffic, and the teeming crowds, she couldn't believe there was so many people in such a small space. "This is amazing," she breathed. LA, London, and Rome, all paled into insignificance next to Toyko. "What are we going to do first? I bet the clubs-."

"We have to get to the Council base," the Immortal reminded her.

Buffy nodded, deflated, being a Slayer was no fun. "Let's get on with it."

* * *

Angel led his companions past the trio of bouncers at the club's entrance and down the stairs inside, his vampire hearing allowing him to hear and wince at the cover band haphazardly performing Beatles songs inside the club; this was going to be murder on his ears. He was half-way down the club's spiral stairwell when a wave of stifling heat hit him with an almost physical force. All at once he was pleased he didn't have to breathe, contradicting his earlier thought, the combination of sweat and smoke choking most of the oxygen out of the underground club. 

The clientele was predictably made up of a majority of over-weight and middle-aged businessmen, their faces glistening with sweat and expressions leering as they ogled girls young enough to be their daughters and, in some cases, grand-daughters. The bar was stocked with a variety of cheap but excessively priced liquor, stuff that appeared just as likely to blind the drinker as get him drunk. But then it wasn't the booze that got the customers flocking in. That was the dancers.

There was something for every taste – short, tall, buxom, lithe, white, black, yellow, red-head, blonde, and brunette. All were in various states of undress of the usual male fantasy costumes.

And then there was the band. Angel couldn't help but growl. In the time it had taken them to enter the club, the Beatle-suited band had segued into 'Help'. He'd heard the Fab Four play in '64 & 65, and this group weren't even close. He was tempted to jump onto the stage and do the musical world a favour and jump on the stage, and kill them. He was reasonably sure that given their bass player it wouldn't be counted as a sin.

Forcing such thoughts aside, he looked around for a quieter table. Seeing an unused table in a shadowy corner, he nodded towards it. "We'll sit over there," he decided.

"I want to sit over there."

Angel looked in the direction his son was drooling, towards a busty brunette stood on top of a table stripping out of a nurse's uniform. "Business not pleasure remember," he reproved while at the same time marvelling at the girl who looked like a heavenly cross between Cordelia and Faith.

"All work and no play makes Connor a dull Connor," his son replied.

"It is like the Pylean Pleasure Pits," Groo disapproved.

"Great." Angel rolled his eyes. "I'm stuck here with a monk and a hormone-driven teen. I hate my unlife." Grabbing hold of a passing waitress' wrist, he flashed her Liam's winning smile. "Excuse me," he said haltingly, his Russian more than a little rusty. "But I could speak to Mr. Petrov?" He passed the waitress three one hundred dollar bills.

The waitress's eyes widened at the money. "Da," she nodded before snatching the money and rushing off.

After a few minutes a fat man with corpulent lips and a comb-over that failed to disguise his thinning hair, the suit that struggled to contain his hefty frame expensive but perhaps five years out of date. "Let me do the talking," Angel instructed.

Connor rolled his eyes. "Why? 'Cause it's not like Russian's my second language."

* * *

"Are you alright?" 

"Yes Mr. Harris," Katrina hid a smile as she glanced over her shoulder to see an uncomfortable expression on the one-eyed man's face. But what else did one call a living legend?

Two years ago she'd been just another one of Prague's street kids, living hand to mouth and on her wits. And the Choosing had occurred and she'd been strong, far stronger than full-grown men, with skills she'd never known before. After two months an Englishman by the name of Robson had arrived with a blonde American called Lockley and taken her to England.

Some of the Slayers hated and resented the Calling but Katrina loved it, loved the escape it gave her from her old life, and the new purpose it gave her. As a result she'd learnt everything there was to know about the Scoobies. Her hero was Faith Lehane, a woman with a similar background to her, but to be teamed with the man who'd split the Slayer line and stopped Willow was a dream come true. It didn't hurt he was easy on the eye either.

Taking a breath, Katrina nimbly climbed up the side of the three storey building they were breaking into, the combination of her enhanced strength and agility making a normally onerous task easy. Once she reached the top, she leaned over and signally to the man waiting in the shadows. "I'll just be a couple of minutes," she hissed.

* * *

"Great," Xander muttered at the Slayer's shout. The lithe blonde with enchanting blue eyes was a great girl, but he worried about her strange eagerness to impress him. It was admirable but it could get her or others hurt. 

Unfortunately, Katrina was the only one of the three Czech Slayers who knew Prague and the only one who had breaking and entry experience, making her the best qualified for the job. His musings were interrupted by the back door being eased open to reveal the tall silhouette of the blonde gesturing him inside.

Xander hurried inside the commercial building. "You get yours and the other girls' uniforms," he whispered. He stopped when a worrying thought hit him. "You know all their sizes right?"

"You mean you don't?" Katrina's ocean blue eyes filled with amusement. "I'm devastated. A woman expects a man to know these things."

Xander's single eye rolled. "I learnt long ago that buying women's clothes is something no man should do." He wondered how she could joke when all he could think about was what if all those films about East European prisons were true. Maybe he was getting old.

"What will you be doing while I'm stealing uniforms?" the blonde Czech queried as she led him through the shadowy corridors.

"Stealing furs."

Katrina glanced over her shoulder, her expression incredulous. "While I'm getting us the uniforms to end an ancient evil organisation you're going into fur smuggling?"

Xander felt the beginnings of a throbbing headache. Slayers! Maybe this was why G-Man had always walked around Sunnydale High with a constipated expression. Although perhaps that had more to do with the English than Buffy. "It's a cover," he patiently explained. "Make the police believe it was a robbery for luxury clothing and those hotel uniforms were just taken by mistake."

"Oh," Katrina purred. "Brains as well as looks."

"Oh great," he muttered. "Horny Slayers. Like I haven't played that riff before."

* * *

Rio, Brazil 

What are we going to do?" Kennedy demanded, shouting over the sound of screaming and roaring gunfire.

"My guess?" Faith hollered back, her eyes fixed on the advancing trio of bikers. "Die horribly and leave two hideous corpses."

"You're a born optimist you know?"

"I know you're still led on me!" Faith replied.

* * *

Rona yawned. Tailing the renowned hellraiser Faith Lehane through Rio's streets was disappointingly boring. No wild brawls, kinky sex, or deadly demons. Perhaps her rep was over-blown. "Or perhaps not," her eyes widened when a knife juggler threw his tools at Faith and Kennedy. 

"You saw that right?" Vi queried from beside her.

"I saw it," Rona confirmed, wincing as the knife thrower fell to the beach, his own knife in his throat. "Guy had to be nuts to take two Slayers on with just knives."

"No!" Vi shook her head. "Not that. That!"

Rona looked around, opening her mouth to ask what she was missing. And then gunfire erupted, ripping through the crowd surrounding their fellow Slayer. "Oh that!" Pulling her pistol crossbow out of her bag, she charged towards the enfolding situation, sighting it as she ran. Finally satisfied she was in range, she fired at the nearest biker.

The bolt flew true, slamming into the side of the biker's neck, just below his helmet, sending blood spurting and the biker crashing to the ground, one of his companions following suit, Vi's bolt likewise jutting out of his neck. Even as she reached for another arrow, the surviving biker turned his gun towards them.

And toppled backwards off his bike when Kennedy rose and threw a knife into his chest. A grin on her face, Rona hurried up to a rising Faith. "Aren't you glad we followed you?"

"Yeah," Faith agreed as she brushed the sand off her bikinied body. "I'm dancing for joy." The older Slayer grimaced as she glanced around the bloodbath. "Let's bail kiddies."

"Who were they?" Rona asked as she hurried after the Bostonian beauty.

"Who do ya think?" Faith growled. "The Order. The stupid bastards sent those amateurs after us. I'm insulted."

* * *

Tokyo 

"I am sorry," Masahiro Muto bowed politely at the immaculately-attired man dressed in the latest fashions, the tiny blonde, and two European model types who'd just turned up on his organisation's doorsteps. They were human, that much he was sure of, but he was far from sure of their motivations and in these troubled times it didn't do to take unnecessary risks. "But this isn't a hotel; it's just a finishing school for girls-."

"My apologies esteemed sir," the foreign man interrupted in flawless, accentless Japanese. "But I'm Franco Rossi." Muto's eyes widened at the legendary four centuries old Watcher who upon his Slayer's death had been cursed by a dark arts mage to live forever knowing his failure. "This is Michelle and Sophia," the foreigner indicated the two taller girls, "two of Europe's Slayers. And this is," the Immortal gestured towards the tiny blonde, "Buffy Summers."

His eyes widened at being confronted by the most contradictory legend in Council history. On the one hand she was the Slayer who'd killed the Master and Lothos, two of the most powerful vampires in history, and defeated a hell-goddess and the First. On the other, she'd betrayed her Calling by fornicating with Angelus and William the Bloody. Quite the enigma.

After checking their veracity with the empath hidden by the side of the door, he nodded. "Please, come in," he smiled. "And how may we help you."


	11. 11

**FIC: Ravages Of Hell (11?)**

**Vatican City**

"Cardinal! Cardinal!"

Cardinal Alex Kane turned at the shout, irritated that the haughty building's silence had been shattered. "Please Father Denya," he made a show of looking around the vaunted corridors. "Have a little decorum."

The Russian priest's round face fell at his scolding. "Yes sir, sorry sir," the East European's eyes brightened. "But have you heard the news?"

Kane raised a greying eyebrow. "The news?"

"The world's magicians and witches dead!" the priest's eyes danced with excitement. "A considerable strike against Satan!"

"Quite," Kane said even as he stared at the jubilant man stood before him. It frequently disappointed him as head of the Papal Occult Offensive Department the sort of men the Vatican sent him as underlings. It was as if his superiors felt that by sending him incompetents they were downplaying the horror of what they faced. To his thinking all of mankind was touched by the devil but free will meant that each person could chose to be good or evil. Of course a magician was a greater threat if they turned evil, but until such a point and in fact even beyond, they were god's children.

Still, those were the sort of thought that if voiced would get him labelled a heretic and excommunicated. "And what do we know of the force that has done this great deed?" he asked.

"Sir?" Father Denya looked confused.

Kane sighed inwardly. The man was an idiot, it was an unchristian thought, but nonetheless true. "Do we know what that the force is? Given their power and ruthlessness they could be a great ally or a fearsome -." His voice trailed off as he glanced out of the outer window, distracted by shouts. Bemused, he stepped to the window and looked out.

Normally at this time the courtyard would be filled with the Swiss Guards that made up the Vatican's security flawlessly drilling. But today it was filled with screaming men dying as ungodly creatures tore into them. "Oh Mary," he muttered. "Mother of God."

"Sir," he glanced across at his pale-faced subordinate. "We must flee."

"Of course," he nodded dazedly. "But what-."

Both corridors' doors smashed open. His blood froze when he looked left and right to see both escape routes blocked by four foot tall, thickly built one-eyed monsters with scaly green hides, razor sharp talons, and drooling fangs. Limbs shaking, he dropped to knees, took his crucifix in his hands, and began to pray.

* * *

A Chateau In The French Alps 

"And our candidate for the post of new BND chief?"

"Has been accepted sir."

Kiefer Erickson nodded in satisfaction. Not that he was surprised; it was a brave or foolish man who dared oppose him. Heads of states, tycoons, industrialist, award-winning scientists, and high-ranking public servants all hurried to obey him. In his time he'd served as deputy chief of the CIA, ambassador to London and the UN, and a special advisor to no less than three presidents. But all those exalted posts faded into insignificance to the one he now held.

He was now the defacto head of the Bilderberg Group, the informal and international association of power-brokers that orchestrated relations between Europe and North America. And as such he was one of the most powerful men in the world. He smiled as he looked around the spacious board-room, nodding at the three dozen group members sat there. The fruits of success tasted very sweet indeed.

His gaze snapped towards the room's entrance when the door crashed open, splintering at the hinges at it fell onto the ground. The unexpected intruder was a towering seven tall and rail-thin with a grey skull-like face and jagged, curved talons hanging off its ropey arms. "W….what are you?" he breathed.

"Your death," a rattling voice over his left shoulder explained. Erickson's heart froze when he looked up to a huge, bat-like creature with the distorted face of a man grinning down at him. He opened his mouth to scream.

And then the beast was on him.

* * *

A Fortress In The Bavarian Alps 

"Some more information on the Vatican harbouring Jewish gold?" Baron Fredich Von Kruger shook his head impatiently at his minion's report. As head of the Bavarian Illuminti it was his duty to prove the untruth of one supreme being and the hypocrisy of the world's religions. And decades old scandals weren't enough. "Surely there's something more recent?"

His subordinate glanced down at his notes. "Some statistics on how the Church's approach is actually helping not hindering the spread of AIDS in Africa."

"That's something," Von Kruger took a sip of his Château Margaux 2000 before continuing. "And the others?" he grimaced. Just hinting at the world's religions gave his otherwise delicious wine a sour taste.

"We have a report linking a Lutheran arch-bishop to an abuse scandal in an orphanage he worked at in the late 70s. There's no evidence he was involved but," his underling, a scrawny, pale-skinned man in his early sixties, smirked, "facts can be slanted. An investigative reporter had linked a prominent American Rabbi to a homophobic organisation and a London cleric to a charity funding Islamic terror groups."

"Excellent." Von Kruger nodded, that was more like it. More proof of the corruption that lived and breathed through ever pore of every religion, that science was the only truth. "Have all this leaked through our media sources."

His minion nodded. "At once sir," his minion hurried towards the door.

Kruger gaped when the door crashed open and a bulky, grey-skinned monster with one eye stepped into his office. After tearing his subordinate's head off, his blood splattering his bookcase filled with first editions, the grinning beast leapt across to land on him.

His last thought was if there were demons maybe there was a god. And then death claimed him.

* * *

Bangkok, Thailand 

Chow Pan wiped at his had. It was the middle of the day and outside it was thundering and lightning. Yet despite that, the day was oppressively hot, perhaps a hundred degrees in the shade.

After loosening his tie and taking a sip of his iced water, he looked around his compatriots. Like him they were all middle-aged greying men dressed in business suits. And like him, their banality hid their ruthless natures and the fact they were the leaders of Oriental organised crime. The Japanese Yakuza, the Chinese Tongs, and the representatives of the gangs that ruled Vietnam, Korea, and Thailand were all seated around the long table. Between them, they ran criminal activity throughout Asia and the vast majority of heroin in the entire world.

All that made him and his companions very wealthy men indeed. And as members of the Golden Dragons, the cartel that ran Asia, very powerful ones.

He rose and started to speak. "Honoured friends, it is good to see you -." He was interrupted by the sound of gunfire and screams in the street outside. "The pol-."

His voice trailed off when the door crashed open and a horde of beasts that could only be described as nightmarish rushed in, attacking him and his companions.

In his youth he'd worked as a torturer for one of the Hong Kong Triads and considered himself an expert in pain. But now, as a spindly six-armed creature tore into him he discovered what true agony was.

* * *

The Gobi Desert, The Knights Of Byzantium 

Knight-Commander Arnold nodded smugly, briefly allowing himself the sin of pride, as he watched his troops flawlessly drill. It was the middle of the day and baking hot, but despite that, his troops were unfaltering in their diligence.

It had been a hard three years since Glorificous had annihilated their Order. But he'd done it, rebuilt the Order to the point there were thirty score of them, more then there'd been since their halcyon days of the 12th and 13th centuries.

Knight-Commander Arnold's mood darkened as he considered the urgent need for the need for the recent increase of troops. All the portents said the end of days were fast approaching. And it was their duty to face it. Their last leader had been an arrogant fool, the way he'd alienated their potentially greatest ally in the Council. Now, thanks to him they stood alone. But they would not fail this time, he would not allow it.

A long shadow was suddenly cast over the drill ground. Puzzled, he looked up, shading his eyes. His heart dropped at the sight that greeted him.

The sky was filled for as far as the eye could see with gargoyles, hideous, muscled monsters with huge wings and glaring eyes. "My lord Jesu," he whispered. Gathering himself, he drew his sword and turned to his troops. "Formation!" If they couldn't be there for the final battle, they could at least strike a final blow for good.

* * *

Washington DC. 

Colonel Glenn Archer stretched as he stood, his middle-aged body creaking back into position. He shook his head ruefully. "Getting old," he commented. It hadn't been like this a few years ago, even two years ago when he'd just finished his twenty years as a US. Ranger officer, having served his country for the past ten of those in black bag operations. He'd been looking forward to his retirement when he'd been approached by a suited man who'd told him his nation, his world still needed him. He hadn't been interested at the time, he'd given enough.

And then the man had revealed the truth about the Sunnydale sinkhole and his world had changed forever.

For the past two years he'd worked tirelessly to recruit an army of special forces troops to protect his nation, nine teams of twelve so far, and another three teams in the planning. He knew about the Slayers, but leaving the world in the hands of adolescent girls rankled.

Looking around his well-ordered office, he nodded. Everything was in order, decades of army training had regimented his mind, ensuring he detested messiness. Satisfied, he turned to the door and grabbed the door handle.

The moment he pulled it down, he heard a beep. His eyes started to widen. And then the door exploded in a ball of fire, the force of the explosion lifting him off his feet and flinging him across the office. His head smashed like a melon against the far wall.

* * *

"Is it done?" 

Drazus nodded before kneeling before his master. "Yes my lord, the behind the scenes organisations that ran the political, industrial, and crime world have been decimated. Confusion and fear reigns."

"Excellent. Next…."

"The Council, sire?"

Satan smiled, almost blinding him with the brilliance of the fangs in his seven mouths. "Soon, oh very soon," his master hissed.


	12. Chapter 12

**FIC: Ravages Of Hell (12?)**

The East End Of London

Charles Rogers hurried through the crowded market, the stalls' ridiculously-priced goods and the clamour of the stall-holders and customers bartering, passing him by as he searched for the demonspawn he'd been sent to kill. He was one of his organisation's finest killers, his quarry having taken out the first two men they'd sent after him.

But not him.

Charles smirked as he saw the fugitive ducking between two stalls. Picking up the pace, he raced through the crowd, heedlessly bowling over those who got in his way, ignoring their shocked protests. By the time he got to the space where he'd seen his quarry, he'd disappeared. Muttering curses under his breath, he rushed through a gap between two stalls and looked left and right.

Seeing his target running around a corner to his right, he continued his pursuit, chasing the man into an alley, its walls littered with fading and peeling fly-posters. Rogers stopped, his forehead creasing in puzzlement as he searched the alley's shadows for his quarry.

The target darted out of the shadows at the far end of the alley. Snarling victoriously, he reached into his jacket for his pocket and started forward. Hearing a footfall to his right, he started to turn.

He gasped as pain seared through his throat as his unseen assailant thrust a switchblade into the right side of his neck and dragged it across his throat. Legs suddenly weak, he slumped against the left wall, his world spinning and his .38 clattering to the ground.

His eyes widened in disbelief when his quarry stepped out of the shadows opposite him. "How?" he gurgled, bloody foam bubbling up in his mouth.

"Dear chap," the older man sneered, "I hardly think that's important." He reached for his dropped gun but his adversary kicked the weapon away, sending it rattling across the cobbles. "Naughty, naughty," his opponent placed a hand over his mouth and nose, cutting off his air. He struggled desperately but his weakening body was no match for his rival and soon death beckoned.

* * *

"Enter my parlour said the spider to the fly," he recited as he let go of the corpse. "Pathetic, truly pathetic." He stared down at the body at his feet, quickly stepping back to evade being splattered by the blood pooling out of the would-be assassin's neck. Didn't want blood on his shoes, at two hundred and fifty quid a pair they were far too expensive to be ruined. 

Realising he had to get out of the alley before somebody saw him, he quickly strode away. Finding the nearest greasy spoon, he shoved its door open and walked in, making his way to the counter. "What it'll be mate?"

He forced a smile. Cuisine de la Cockney, how positively delightful. "Why, I'll have a chocolate éclair and a cup of your tea, my good man."

The balding man stood behind the counter nodded. "That'll be four quid, mate."

He grimaced. Bloody hell, he could remember when he could get pissed on that much. He handed over a crumpled fiver. "Keep the change," he instructed before making his way over to a corner table, the sounds of some boy-band or other blaring out of the jukebox, polluting the otherwise unhealthily smoky atmosphere.

He shuddered as he took a tentative sip of his tepid tea. "Bugger, that's foul," he muttered. He idly stirred at the offending cup, considering his opponents. It had been a simple matter to cast a confusion spell, making his rival follow a hallucination-induced doppelganger of him. "Magic always works better on the simple-minded," he chuckled.

His smile disappeared at the sound of nearing police sirens. Obviously the corpse had been discovered. Which brought him back to his original problem, namely his hunters. Individually they were no match for a man of his intelligence and resources, but collectively he was out-gunned. He needed help and the only solution was….

"Oh bugger," he groaned. "Ripper." His elation of having survived dissipating, he gulped down his tea, rose, and strode out of the café

* * *

"Oh, damnation!" Giles rubbed at his forehead as he read through the reports Riley had written. He knew there was a reason he'd hadn't seriously considered a career in the military – bloody paperwork. 

Still, it did appear Riley and his team were fitting in very well. As was Lorne much to his surprise, the green-skinned demon having somehow strong-armed him into turning one of the storerooms into a rec-area where he'd entertain them all every night with a mind-boggling variety of songs ranging from show tunes, country, pop, ballads, rock, and soul. The only thing he refused to sing was hip hop. But then, he smirked, who would?

Giles' mood darkened when he considered the one black spot on the horizon – Roger 'stick up his arse' Whyndham-Pryce. Every soddin' day the bugger would have to come into his office with a different complaint. Sometimes it was about Riley's changes to the building. Other times it would be Lorne's presence. Other times it would be about him and Willow concealing the Slayer line's true origins. "Talk about flogging a dead horse," he muttered.

He looked up at a knock on the door before glancing down at his watch. It was rather too early for it to be Roger; it usually took him a few hours to build up a head of steam. "Hello?"

"It's me."

Ah, Giles grimaced. There was another problem, a slight issue compared to the other more pressing ones, but still a problem. "Do come in." He watched with concern as Willow entered, noting the red-head's unnatural paleness and the dimness of her usually lively eyes. "Please," he gestured to the leather upholstered seat at the other side of the desk. "Have a seat."

"Thanks," the world's most powerful witch smiled wanly before complying.

He stared at the red-head for a long second. "And how are you, Willow?"

"The Council's library is incredibly extensive," the witch reported. "And the Watchers you gave us are a great help. The only trouble is we don't really know what we're looking for, let alone what we're looking for."

"Oh," Giles winced. That was less than encouraging. Returning to his original concern, he pressed. "I didn't ask you how research was going. I asked how you are. Since your return I've noticed you've not been yourself. What's wrong?" the witch looked down at the ground. "Willow?"

"It's Xander," Giles groaned inwardly. When either of the two Sunnydale natives was upset, the other was usually to blame. They loved one another fiercely but when they fought it was with equal passion. "H….he found out that I'd told Amy to watch out for him no matter what. Now he's mad at me. He blames me for her dying and not trusting him."

Giles felt his heart drop at Willow's words. In truth, he had considerable sympathy with both viewpoints. Willow was only doing what she thought was right to protect her oldest friend. Which was all very admirable but Giles knew how Xander had chafed under the mantle of being the 'weak one'. He also knew that the young man had secretly loved the opportunity to spread his wings, to be his own man. But now Willow had taken that away from him. And Willow's actions, however well-intentioned, had indirectly lead to Amy's death. "I understand your concern, Willow, and that you acted for the best of reasons," he carefully began. "But Xander is a full-grown adult." Now there was a word he'd never thought he'd use in relation to Xander. "And as such deserves the right to stand and fall by his decisions. You can't hold his hand forever."

"Bu-."

"Giles!" They broke off from their conversation to look towards the doorway as Dawn charged in, a distressed look on her face. "I know what's causing this!"

"Really?" Giles felt his academic interest quicken. "Please, by all means."

"It was the amulet that Wolfram & Hart gave Angel for Buffy," the teen brunette began pacing the floor.

"It wasn't meant to close the Hellmouth?" Willow guessed.

Dawn shook her head. "Oh yes it was. In its original form at least." Giles' heart dropped. Original form? That did not sound good. "Wolfram & Hart didn't want the First Evil to win anymore than we did. It was serious competition for them. But they added an interesting twist, put on a curse that delivered the wearer's soul to them."

"Why the interest in Spike?" Giles asked in confusion.

Dawn smiled painfully. "It wasn't meant for him. They didn't figure on Buffy's feelings for Spike." Giles rolled his eyes. Please, bile rose in his throat at just the thought of that swaggering prat. Love is blind? It'd have to be deaf and lacking sanity for someone to fall for him. "It was meant for Buffy or Faith, the true champions at the Sunnydale battle. Best case they got Buffy to use to blackmail Angel with. If they got Faith," Dawn shrugged. "I guess they got an opportunity to get revenge for her not killing Angel."

"And Spike?"

"Although Spike's soul closed the Hellmouth, his demon warped the amulet's magic, causing rips in the dimensional fabric." Dawn's eyes darkened. "Evil is leaking in from hell."

"Oh bugger," Giles muttered. Could things get any worse?

"Sir?" He looked up to see Robson leading in a scruffy but familiar looking figure. Giles groaned. Question answered.

Lips parting in a snarl, he leapt to his feet, raced across the room, and drove a solid right into their unwelcome guest's stomach. The man grunted, doubled up, and fell wheezing to his knees. "What the bloody," he slammed a foot into his fellow country-man's right side, knocking down onto his left, "hell are you doing here, you bastard!"

"Please," the man gasped, an evil smirk twisting his mouth, "watch your language. No swearing in front of the ladies."

Giles glanced behind him. Noting Willow and Dawn's pale faces, he forced himself to relax. Next, he looked towards Robson. His ire returned as he noticed the tell-tale glaze in his fellow Watcher's eyes. Glamour," he muttered before grabbing his former friend by the hair at the back of his head and dragged him to his feet. "You've got some bloody nerve, Ethan!" he growled.

"This isn't the sort of welcome I'd hoped for, Ripper," his friend retorted.

"Welcome this!" Giles slammed his palms into his former friend's chest. Taken by surprise, Ethan staggered backwards, the back of his legs hitting the table directly behind him. Before Ethan had chance to right himself, Giles punched him in the face.

Blood flew from the Chaos Mage's mouth as he fell onto the table, knocking both him and the table to the carpet. Grinning viciously, he stepped towards the moaning man. "Stop!"

He glared at the obstacle stood in his path. "Out of my bloody way!" he ordered.

Dawn glared back at him with all the pig-headedness of her sister. "No."

"Dawn," Willow broke in, her voice colder than he ever remembered it. "Move."

After a second, the younger Summers sister sulkily stepped aside. By now, Ethan had sat up against the wall, and was gingerly holding his ribs, eyeing him warily. "Miss Rosenberg," Ethan greeted with all the false cheer of an used car salesman. "I see you've begun to utilise your potential."

"And I see," the Wicca's tone sounded like treading over chipped ice. "You continue to abuse yours. Three decades now! Will you never learn!"

Ethan laughed then winced. "You can talk! I heard about '02, most enterprising. A little overkill perhaps-."

"Overkill."

"Willow, please." Ethan's exchange with Willow had given Giles the time to calm down slightly, which was probably what the crafty bastard had intended. "Why are you here, Ethan?" he demanded. "You should have known you'd get a less than congenial welcome." His fellow country-man's mouth opened. Giles shook his head as he thought of something. "No, wait. Dawn, get Lorne."

Ethan grinned at him as Dawn left, closing the door behind her. "Dawn Summers, uh? Just as nubile as her -."

His former friend shrieked, eyes rolling back in his head, when Giles drove his foot into his groin. "Shut your damn hole!" he snarled at the moaning man. "Another word like that and I'll cut your bollocks off!"

"Giles," he forced himself to relax at Willow's now slightly trembling voice, "calm down. He's just trying to-."

"Wind me up," Giles finished before nodding, it was the bastard's favourite sport. He bet as a lad Ethan had picked the legs off insects, now his hobby was annoying people. "I know, it's what he does." He looked up from his inspection of the now grey-faced Chaos Mage at the sound of the door opening. "Thank you, Dawn. Lorne," he nodded towards the green-skinned demon as immaculately dressed as always. He idly wondered if the Pylean could give Xander some fashion tips. Returning to the matter in hand, he looked towards Ethan, eyes hardening once more. "Sorry to disturb you old chap, but I want you to," reaching down, he grabbed two handfuls of Ethan's denim jacket and dragged him to his feet, "read this piece of shit!"

"Am I sensing hostility Watcher Guy?" queried the horned Pylean.

"Perceptive fellow aren't you?" Ethan examined Lorne with interest. "And what, pray tell are you?"

"Lorne reads people when they sing," Giles explained with a significant look at his former friend. "It's up to him if you should be allowed stay."

A smirk slowly wound itself across his fellow country-man's face. "It would appear that only one song is suitable for this weighty occasion." His compatriot took a breath before starting.

Once he'd finished, Giles shook his head in disgust. "Should I stay or should I go? Everything's a bloody joke to you, isn't it?" he demanded.

"Keeps me young," Ethan agreed with a grin.

Still shaking his head, Giles turned to Lorne. "Well?"

"He's got the aura of a W&H lawyer," Lorne replied, the distaste etched on his face. Giles grinned, that meant he got to beat on the sleazy bugger for a while longer before having him thrown in the council dungeon. "But he also needs to here."

"Oh bugger," Giles muttered before turning to the smirking Chaos worshipper. "Why are you here anyway?"

All hint of hilarity fled from Ethan's face. "The Witchguard."

"Oh bollocks," he cursed. "It never just rains, it has to bloody pour."

"The Witchguard?" queried Dawn.

"An age-old cult dedicated to the annihilation of all witches and wizards. They've been in existence since records began. They influenced the Druidic massacre by the Romans, the Chelmsford Witch trials, and the butchering of the Knight Templars. They even put Pope Paul IV, a Cardinal involved in the torture of witches on the Papal Seat, and were behind the creation of the Witchfinder General. In addition they caused the trial of Joan of Arc-."

"Oooh! Was she a -."

Giles stared at the witch, exasperated by the interruption. "Yes, Willow before you ask, she was a Witch-."

"Even worse, she was a lesbian, what a waste of a good wom-," Ethan gulped at Willow's glare. "Never mind."

Giles rolled his eyes. He could just see Ethan was going to be a pain in the arse. "And were behind the Salem Witch Trials."

"Just how old is this most feared order Mr. Giles?"

"There's been rumours of their existence as far back as Tutankahem," Ethan answered Andrew's query. "Legend has it the boy pharaoh dabbled in the arcane arts, and a cabal of his advisors got together and murdered him. That act was the inception of the Witchguard, the pharaoh their first victim."

"Quite so," Giles nodded, hiding his irritation at Ethan's interrupting his lecture and the fact his oldest friend had wasted such a fine brain in the pursuit of small-minded chaos. "Amongst the famed Witch Hunters that were members of their dread order were Bernardino of Siena, Pierre de Lancre, Henri Boguet, Nicolau Eymeric, Cardinal Richelieu, and even King James Stuart VI."

"But he was a Jock, can one expect different?" muttered Ethan.

"Maybe they killed the Devon Coven?" Willow suggested.

Giles considered the idea for a few seconds before shaking his head. "No," he decided. "There was a demonic signature at the cottage," bile rose in his throat as he remembered the slaughter, "and demonic languages daubed in blood on the walls of the cottage. The Witchguard wouldn't lower themselves," he smiled apologetically at Lorne, "to working with demons." He glared at Ethan. "And what pray did you do to piss them off?"

His former running mate shrugged. "Nothing. It appears," Ethan reached into his jacket, pulled out a crumpled was of papers, and glanced significantly at Willow, "I'm on a list."

"A list?" Giles took the list and began to leaf through ten sheets of single-spaced typing. It was a list of names, perhaps 150 to a sheet, some names crossed out, some he vaguely recognised. Finally he looked up. "What is this?"

"A list of people marked for death," Ethan shrugged again. "Some evil, some good. Some grey."

"Mages?" asked Dawn, her voice a taut whisper.

"Not just mages." His former fellow Chaos Mage shook his head. "Seers, psychics, empaths. People with paranormal talent. If you look on the back page, there's a colour code to the differing inks."

"Where did you get this list?" demanded Willow a half-second before he could.

Ethan smiled Wryly. "The Withchguard have been persistent in their advances. I took it off one of their after killing him." Rayne's expression grew puzzled. "What I don't understand is why they are now so powerful and bold?"

Any explanation Giles could have given was interrupted by his study door crashing open. "Giles!" Riley's voice trailed off, the soldier's eyes narrowing as he registered Ethan's presence. "How in the hell did he get here?"

"Ah, US. Military prisons, not what they once were," Ethan sneered only to pale when Riley advanced on him. "A simple glamour spell convinced my guards to release me," Ethan babbled before looking pleadingly at him. "Ripper!"

Giles sighed. It was truly tempting to leave the arrogant bugger to get his just desserts but Lorne said he was needed. "Please Colonel Finn," he was careful to use the American's rank, subtly reminding him of his duties. "It appears for now ourselves and Rayne share a common foe. You have some news?"

"Yes." After a last glance at the battered mage, Riley turned to him. "Lord Alfred Norton, Baron Fredrich Von Kruger, and Keifer Erickson have all been reported murdered. In addition, the Vatican and Cardinal Alex Kane has been murdered."

"Good god," Giles breathed, his legs suddenly unsteady. Glancing at his former friend, he saw Ethan's face grey.

"Giles," Dawn's worried voice broke into his shock. "Who are they?"

Giles glanced at Willow. "Willow, please power that," he stared distastefully at his computer, "thing up." He turned back to Dawn. "Norton was the head of the Free-Masons, Kruger led the Illuminati, Erickson runs the Bilderberg group, and Kane is the head of the Catholic Church's Occult Department."

"Your computer's ready, Giles."

Giles nodded at Willow's shout. "Thank you, dear." He strode over to the Wicca, noting that the others, including Ethan, followed him over to the desk. "Please run the icon marked '1,000'."

"What is it Giles?" Willow asked after she'd pressed on the icon. Tricky thing the mouse, he remembered the days one dealt with them by putting cheese in a trap.

"Andrew wrote me a computer application. It tracks the world's 1,000 most powerful people – secret society leaders, business tycoons, politicians, religious leaders, law enforcement officers, and criminals. It searches the internet for recent reports on them all." Giles paused for a second. "Please click on the 'deceased' option." After a few seconds the screen cleared to give a result. "Good lord," he gasped. "One hundred and twenty-seven dead in the past week."

For a long while there was a hushed silence. Inevitably it was Ethan who broke it. "Well that answers one of my questions."

"Really?" Giles looked at his former partner in crime. "Do share with the rest of us?"

"Why you and Miss Rosenberg weren't on the Witchguard hit-list," Ethan glanced at the wad of papers he'd given to Giles. "You're being saved for later."


	13. Chapter 13

**FIC: Ravages Of Hell (13?)**

Angel forced himself to relax. As much as he disliked organised crime thugs, they weren't really his concern. Even if he did what he wanted and tore the scumbags' throats out it would only mean that Petrov's club was destroyed by their replacements the moment he left.

Quelling his distaste at his unused to helplessness, he nodded to their host as the man rose and waddled towards the quartet of thugs. "Dad."

He looked towards Connor and shook his head. "I know son, but there's not much we can do-."

"No dad, them."

He cursed when he looked over his shoulder to see another quartet of hoods entering the club, Uzis in hands. "Hit the ground!" he roared, knocking the table, he dropped to the dusty ground. Obviously the strippers doubled as the cleaners.

"We haven't got any weapons!" Connor bellowed over the sound of gunfire and people screaming.

"Yes we have," he corrected. Conscious of the patrons and exotic dancers' screams as the bullets ripped through them, their blood splattering throughout the club, making him momentarily vamp out, he reached for the shattered bottles Connor and Groo had been drinking from. "Stay down!" he ordered.

"Believe me when I say, not going anywhere!" Connor yelled over the shooting.

At the first lull in firing, Angel leapt to his feet and began flinging shards into the throats of the underworld minions. "Ah hell!" he grunted as bullets from the last two shooters thudding into him. Fighting against the pain, he hurdled over the table and landed between the two killers some fifteen feet away. "Hi comrades!" he smiled before reaching out to grab the thugs' throats and squeezing until they broke. "Bye comrades!"

Dropping the two corpses, he fell to one knee, his body overcome with weariness and pain. "Dad! Are you okay!"

He allowed himself a half-second to luxuriate in his son's concern before raising his head and nodding. "I'm okay," he lied. "Just give me a minute."

"Shall we get the book, Angel?" Groom queried.

"Good idea," he agreed. As his companions hurried across the dance floor, shattered glass clinking underfoot, Angel inspected his surroundings. Where just minutes before people had been having a good time, there was only destruction and pain. Corpses and groaning, bleeding bodies littered the floor, blood mixing with cordite in the air.

Sickened by his demon's rejoicing, he stumbled to his feet and dragged his wounded body into the office. "Found it?" he asked, voice filled with weary pain.

Connor looked up, his son's face creased with worry. "We have," the humanvampire hybrid confirmed. "Are you okay?"

"No," he admitted with a shake of his head. "But I will be once I've fed."

"Maybe you could-." His son's voice trailed off as he peered over his shoulder towards the carnage.

"No," Angel shook his head at his son's suggestion. "I don't feed from humans. I can hold on until we get back to the hotel."

* * *

Oz looked up as Xander crept into the bedroom that he and Wood were sharing with the founding Scooby. "Hey, Xander." 

His friend started at the former principal's voice. "Oh, sorry guys," the younger man turned on the light. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"We weren't sleeping." Wood reassured the native Sunnydaler. "We thought we'd wait up, make sure everything went alright."

"It went fine." Xander grinned. "We can roll tomorrow."

"Great," Wood replied before pausing. Oz groaned inwardly, he hated it when he saw these metaphorical car crashes coming but couldn't do anything to get out of the way. "Look, about Faith."

Xander's eye hardened. "I told you yesterday. You want to get back into her pants, go for your life. But I'm not some pawn in your chess game."

Wood's jaw tightened. "This isn't about me and Faith," the bald African-American protested. "This is about you treating a great girl like crap."

"Kinda like she treated me," Xander shot back. "Look, you wanna trust her. Have some idealised picture of her, your neck," Xander winced at that. "But I know that's bullshit. I know her for the bitch she really is."

"Now hold on!" Wood rose, eyes flaring. "You've got some problem with Willow, that's your affair. But don't be -."

"Not. Another. Word," Oz broke in. He hated having to get involved, but calling in the Slayers to separate them as they wrestled on the ground wasn't a real option either. It was pathetic, it really was. As a werewolf he could smell the jealousy coming off both men. Xander was jealous of Wood's relationship with Faith while Wood was jealous that Xander had got there first.

Both crazy in love with the same woman and both unable to admit. Shaking his head, Oz continued. "This isn't a playground where you can pull each other's hai-," his voice trailed off when he glanced at the bald black man. "Anyway. You're our leaders," he turned off the light. "Lead."

* * *

The Amazon 

"F-U-C-K!" Faith looked around the leafy jungle surrounding them. She'd never seen so much green in her life. "It is hot!" Her outfit of khaki shorts and tied off canvas shirt were sticking to her like a second skin. As a city gal she had to admit all this wildlife, the sounds, sights, and smells were more than a little intimidating. And being forced to travel without a guide because no one dared to come into the territory was just the icing on the freaking cake.

"Wait." She turned to see Rona some way down the dirt packed road, hopping around on one foot. "I've got a stone in my shoe!"

Faith exchanged an amused look with Kennedy. "A stone in your shoe? You're a freakin' sissy!" she accused.

Rona glared at her as she struggled to take her boot off. "This from the woman who was screaming about a snake two hours back."

"I was not screaming," Faith loftily replied. "I was warning ya all of a threat."

"Sounded like screaming to us," Vi put in. "And a threat? From a six inch worm?"

"I won't be warning any of you in the future," Faith huffed.

"Gee, I guess we'll have to watch out for a possible teddy bear attack on our lonesome," Rona scoffed.

Faith scowled at the African-American. "Gee, I don't remember you being this funny back in Sunnydale. Annoying sure."

"Oh, Faith."

Faith glanced at Kennedy. Her glare at being interrupted turned to a grin when she registered the spear-wielding jungle natives surrounding them. "Well it's about time you guys got here," she scolded. "Five freakin' days. Well what are ya waiting for? Take us to your leader." Her beaming smile widened. She'd always wanted to say that.

* * *

Kennedy stared at first the ten tribesmen and then her calmly waiting leader. "Are you mad?" Kennedy hissed. "We can take them." 

"Yup," Faith appeared unfazed by her anger. "But those reports we've got say the Trident's guardians are local tribesmen. I figure we get them to lead us to their village rather than us waste our time trying to find it."

"And if you're wrong?" she demanded while watching the surrounding loin-clothed men, ugh just one look under them reminded herself why she was a lesbian. "They might be cannibals!"

"Wouldn't be the first bunch of guys who've wanted to eat me," Faith cheerfully replied. "Kinda reminds me of this biker club back in '97."

Kennedy wrinkled her nose. "You're disgusting."

Faith winked. "You say the nicest things."

* * *

"Oh heck!" Buffy cheerfully exclaimed as Mashiro led the Slayer legend and her companions into his inner sanctum – his well-stocked library. "And I don't speak Japanese. Looks like you'll have to research without me." 

"Actually Miss Summers," Masahiro politely corrected, none of the pride he felt in his bland tone. "The texts contained in here," he looked around the quiet chamber, "are in a variety of languages. Including English." He chose to ignore the tiny blonde's utterance of an unladylike word in favour of bowing slightly. "I will return with some of our researchers," he promised.

"Oh goody," muttered the blonde, sulkily pouting.

Once he'd returned, he took a book and began reading, keeping one eye on Miss. Summers. What he observed was more than a little disappointing. Given what he'd read of Miss Summers' exploits, he'd expected a commanding warrior woman. Instead he was confronted with a western pretty the like of which were working in cocktail bars all over the city. "Disappointing," he muttered. Comforting himself that perhaps her true face came out in battle he began to read. And it could have been worse; he could have been confronted with the Lehane geisha.

"I've found something," Masahiro looked up at the excited brunette. He remembered her name was Michelle. He shook his head at her unnecessary display of emotion. "Directions."

The Immortal smiled, now there was a man of substance. "May I?" the Slayer passed the Italian the leather-bound book. "Thank you," the European Watcher buried his head in the book for a few minutes before looking up, his smile broader than ever. "I know where it is."

* * *

Gwen's eyes widened as the door to her hotel room burst open. Rising, she watched with concern as her friends stumbled into the room, Angel supported by the other two. "You're hurt!" she exclaimed. 

"No, really?" the demon winced as he was lowered onto his bed. "Thanks for the newsflash, I hadn't noticed." The vampire looked towards the room's fridge. "Some blood?"

"Sure." Gwen hurried over to the fridge. "Cow's blood okay?"

"Yeah." After nodding his thanks, the vampire tore open the packet and began hungrily drinking.

Anxious to look at anything but the feeding demon, Gwen turned towards Connor. Noticing the kid was busily inspecting a hefty tome, she stepped towards him. "That the book?"

Connor glanced up at her. "Yeah, I'm trying to work out what it says." The youth began reading from the book, his words alien and arcane. Gwen saw Groo's eyes widen in horror and heard Angel yell in alarm.

And then nothing.

* * *

"Here's the plan." Xander looked around the railway station café they were occupying in an attempt to avoid any possible bugs or surveillance. "Katrina, Martina, and Petra will be going in undercover as chamber-maids. Katrina," he nodded towards the former street waif, "will unlock the fire escape here." He pointed at the hotel plan. "Allowing June, Tea, Neelam, Salma, and Milla to get in. Martina and Petra will be dealing with the Order's internal security. Meanwhile Ruby and I will be signing in as a honeymoon couple-." 

"It's my dream come true," Ruby cooed breathlessly. "And I want wedding presents!"

Xander rolled his eye at the giggles that ran through the girls. "Slayers," he muttered before raising his voice. "Shannon, Alex, and Natasha will be outside the front door with Robin playing his girls," he allowed himself a smirk, "to his pimp-daddy."

"Still say it's racial stereo-typing," the former principal grunted.

"This is all going to cause a big disturbance," Salma, a curvy, olive-skinned Brazilian in her late teens, pointed out.

"Yep," Xander nodded. "That's why Werewolf Oz will be running amok through downtown Prague. Now," he leaned forward, towards his audience, "any questions?"

* * *

"Shit," Faith grumbled. "You'd think they'd at least fasten us to their poles and carry us in." 

Her fellow Slayers stared at her in disbelief. After a second, Kennedy spoke. "You're joking right?"

"Hey, this is my first time captured by a tribe of cannibals," Faith looked around her tropical surroundings. "I'm kinda jonesing for the full experience."

"You're nuts," Rona commented.

"I resent that!" Faith exclaimed. "My prison shrink told me I was making great strides to mental health!"

"Uh, uh," Kennedy sounded unconvinced. "Was this before or after you beat his ass?"

"I'm insulted," Faith protested. "I just broke his thumb, and that was the first shrink on his first visit when he tried to touch my ass."

"Makes all the difference," Kennedy scoffed.

"Bite me," Faith shot back.

"Faith," Vi had a pained expression. "Cannibals remember. Try not to encourage them."

"What?" Faith smirked at the tribesmen flanking them. "They seem like a friendly bunch. And," she winked lewdly at her friends, "from what I've seen under their loin-cloths I might come back for a holiday. A whole tribe to myself, oh the possibilities."

"You're disgusting," Kennedy accused.

"Yep," Faith cheerfully agreed. "But at least I ain't boring." Faith fell silent as they entered the village, noting the crowds watching them, looks of curiosity on the onlookers' faces, and the cone-shaped mud and twig huts. And the cauldrons in the centre of the village, which was a little worrying. "Damn," she muttered. Maybe this had been a mistake.

* * *

Chamuska looked up from his reciting of the tribal folklore, conscious of the excitement crackling in the air. "Precious ones," he smiled at the tribe's children sat at his feet, waiting expectantly for him to continue. Instead he rose, old joints creaking. "I have other matters to attend to." His smile widened at the chorus of disappointment that greeted his words. "Now then little warriors and little women. I'll be back soon," he promised. 

His pulse quickened as he entered the village meeting place and saw the four foreign beauties corralled there by the tribe's excited-looking warriors. All of them had the sleek build of athletes but while three of them warily watched the spearmen surrounding them, the fourth stood with an uncaring air.

"Could it be," he croaked through suddenly drying lips as he recognised the quartet. Gathering his courage, he pushed through the crowd of warriors. "Faith!" he bellowed the young woman's name.

The woman turned towards him, a quizzical expression on her face. "That's me, hon. And how in the hell do you speak English?"

Chamuska smiled mysteriously. "I don't," he turned to the hunting party leader. "Untie them," he ordered.

The hunter's face blanched at being ordered by his tribal shaman but shook his head. "They are healthy women, will bear the tribe many fine children!"

"No!" he shouted back. "They have a far greater purpose!"

"What ya talking about?"

Chamuska turned back to Faith, surprised that she would dare to interrupt men. Deciding her culture must be very different to his, he pointed at the bonds around the beauty's wrists. "I was telling them to unfasten you."

"Oh." His eyes widened when the raven-haired woman forced her wrists apart, snapping the ropes. "Is that all?" Even as he gaped in awe at the young woman's power, the tribe's warriors hurried forward, their spears probing. "You want me to shove that spear up your ass, boy?" Faith drawled.

"No! Wait!" Chamuska hurried forward to stand beside Faith. "They are the Chosen!" The tribesmen immediately dropped to their knees, their faces pressing into the grass.

"Well finally!" Faith exulted before glancing at her three fellow amazons. "I told ya all that once they noticed my hotness they'd be on their knees. Although usually I don't mean literally."

Chamuska stared at the brunette. He understood the words but not the gibberish she was saying. Deciding the language must have changed since the days of the prophecy, he grabbed the Chosen's forearm. "Come with me!" he ordered.

The girl raised an eyebrow. "Damn!" she growled. "Don't think I'm not grateful. But your wrinkly ass ain't dragging me to no cave. You dig?"

Again Chamuska was more than a little confused by the young woman's words. "The reason why you are here is over here!"

The young woman exchanged looks with her companions. "In that case, lead on MacDuff."

"My name is Chamuska not MacDuff," he stiffly corrected.

Faith snorted. "My mistake. Lead on, Chamuska."

After a nod to his fellow tribesmen, he guided the four foreign amazons through the suddenly hushed village and to the caves situated at the rear. The Chosen followed him inside the caves only to stop dead. "Oh my god!" exclaimed the red-head.

"I…it's," Faith reached up to stroke one of the four portraits decorating the cave walls. "Us."

"Really?" he commented. "I hadn't noticed." Swallowing slightly under the Chosen's collective glare, he continued. "Many centuries ago, legend has it a wizened old woman came here and told us that three warriors of the light would come here, led by another woman, once evil, but now a champion of good, named Faith. She did a spell that would allow us to understand your language when you came and put your likeness on the walls here," he glanced at their surroundings, "and ensure that the pictures would never fade, serving as a reminder of our duty. Since that time, my tribe has guarded this." He reached into the darkness. The book the witch had placed there centuries ago appeared in his hand. "And now it is yours."

Faith stared at the book for a long moment before taking the leather-bound volume. "This witch, what was her name?" the brunette warrior asked.

"She called herself Willow."

"What!" The other three girls screamed, in contrast Faith just nodded.

"Kinda figured it had to be. That much power." The girl glanced at him. "Thanks wise guy." Chamuska nodded before heading towards the entrance. "You not staying?"

Chamuska turned back to the Chosen. "No," he replied. "Willow left instructions that the book should only be read in the presence of the four." He smiled as he remembered something else. "The wise woman also said to believe in yourself and him."

The brunette looked confused. "What the fuck's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged. "That's all she said."

* * *

Faith stared after the wizened man for a second, mulling over his words before shaking her head reaching for the back. She turned to Kennedy when the other Slayer grabbed her wrist. "Yeah?" 

Red's girl-friend bit her bottom lip at Faith's tone but to her credit held steady. "What if it's a trap? I mean, Willow here?"

"Look at the portraits," she pointed at the cavern paintings. "Red knew we were gonna be here. She trusted us. Time to trust her." Opening the book, she began to read from it, the arcane words printed there for some reason making sense. Suddenly a bright light enveloped her.

* * *

"Take a right here," the Immortal instructed. 

Buffy looked around their surroundings, a deserted subway tunnel, the stench of oil heavy in the air. "What I don't understand," she commented as she entered an unused workmen's tunnel. "How can these directions," she ducked beneath an over-hanging pipe, perspiring slightly at the scalding heat. "Be so accurate?"

Her Watcher and lover shrugged. "The prophecy perhaps?"

"What if it's a trap?" Michelle queried.

Buffy chuckled. "Then if they're really lucky they'll live to regret it."

"We're here," the Immortal announced.

Buffy looked around. They were in a dead end. "Where's here?"

"According to this," Buffy's eyes widened when her boy-friend took a breath and reached into the brick wall and pulled out a book, "the next piece of the puzzle." The Italian opened the book, and shook his head. "I can't read this." He passed her the book. "See if you can."

Taking a breath, she opened the book, and squinted. For some reason, the words inside made a strange sense. Somehow compelled, she began to read. Suddenly the world exploded in light.


	14. 14

**FIC: Ravages Of Hell (14?)**

Oz glanced at his watch, his lycanthrope enhanced senses allowing him to see through the shadows of the alley and read its face. Fifteen minutes until Xander's plan called for him to go into action.

"Following a Harris plan," he shook his head and chuckled. "Neighbourhood's gone to hell." Smiling to himself, he settled down to wait.

* * *

Katrina joined her fellow Czech Slayers in hurriedly changing into their chambermaid outfits in the female locker room, the room's starkness a startling contrast to the hotel's luxurious public face. Her heart dropped when the dressing room door swung open to reveal a thickly-built, formidable-looking woman in her late forties wearing a supervisor's uniform. The hotel employee's eyes widened. "Who are you girls!" she shrilled. "You're not staf-!" 

"Hell!" Katrina cursed as the middle-aged woman backed away from them. Leaping over a bench, she grabbed a hold of the woman around her collar and yanked her back in, looping her arm around the supervisor's in a chokehold and squeezing until the woman passed out, slumping into her arms.

"What are we going to do with her?" Petra hissed, the blonde's ocean blue eyes fixed on the unconscious woman.

Katrina looked around, momentarily at a loss and conscious that precious seconds were ticking away. She grinned as inspiration struck. "In the lockers," she replied. "Here," she passed the unconscious body to Martina, "hold her." She crouched by the nearest locker, squinting as she stared at the door's lock. She smiled as she realised how it worked. A few seconds later and the door swung open. "Here," she nodded to Martina, "put her in there."

Martina looked from her to the narrow locker space and back again. "She'll never fit in there," her fellow Slayer hissed.

Pushing away her own misgivings, the older woman had some heft, Katrina grabbed hold of the supervisor's meaty arms. "Yes, she will," she argued even as she struggled to stuff the body into the locker, thanking the powers that be for her Slayer strength. "See," she wiped away at the sweat beading from her forehead. "Easy."

"Great," Martina commented archly. "And how do we lock it again?"

Katrina groaned. Putting her back against the door, she forced the over-stuffed locker shut. "Lock it," she ordered. Once the supervisor was imprisoned, she looked expectantly at her companions. "Are you ready?" her two fellow Slayers nodded. "Let's go and good luck."

* * *

"What do you mean you have no record of our booking?" 

Hannah's practiced smile slipped. The one-eyed man's anger as he glared at her from the other side of the reception desk was intimidating to say the least. There was something dangerous about the man that made her very glad when the diminutive red-head accompanying the enraged visitor tugged on his arm. "Calm down Alex," the red-head pleaded.

"Calm down," Hannah heaved a relieved sigh when Alex's glare switched from her to her companion. "This is our honeymoon!" the man growled. "It's supposed to be special!"

The red-head's green eyes turned stony. "Being here with me isn't special is it?"

"Honey," Hannah hid a triumphant smirk at the man's sudden paling, "that's not what I meant!" Alex raised his hands in a placating gesture.

Relieved that the couple's attention had turned on one another, Hannah took a second to shake her head. "Americans," she muttered.

* * *

Katrina watched from behind a white-washed pillar as a porter entered the third floor elevator, the door soundlessly sliding shut behind the hotel worker. Satisfied the coast was clear, she hurried over to the fire escape, forced the door open, and ushered her fellow Slayers inside. That accomplished, she sent Xander a page indicating her first part of the mission was completed before turning to her companions. "Stage two, now."

* * *

"But, dear," Xander broke off from his staged argument at the tell-tale vibration of his pager. After a discreet look and sending of a receipt page to Katrina, and another page to Wood, he continued with his ever more heated conversation.

* * *

Wood groaned as Xander's page went off. He glanced in the window of the dress shop opposite and winced at his attire of Panama hat, gaudy shirt that looked like he'd vomited on himself, skin-tight leather pants, multiple medallions around his neck, and a glittering ring on every finger. For a man who preferred conservative dress, his disguise was a nightmare. He was definitely going to kill Harris for this. Whoever told Harris he had a sense of humour had a lot to answer for. 

Not that, he looked towards his trio of uncomfortable companions, the Slayers had got off any lighter. Dressed in black minis so short they were better described as belts, two sizes too small crop tops that had them shivering in Prague's cold night air, and caked in make-up, there could be no doubt as to their supposed trade. "Let's go."

Once across the busy main street, Wood led his 'girls' across the busy street and approached The Grand's gleaming entrance and its bullet-headed, barn-sized doorman. "Hey man!" Wood whooped even as he felt his cheeks flame with embarrassment. "Open the doors 'cause Ramrod Robbie!" the name was Xander's invention of course, "and his girls are here and ready to P-A-R-T-Y!"

After a distasteful look at him and a lingering, lustful, one at the three Slayers, the tuxedoed doorman shook his head. "I'm afraid you can't come in sir."

Wood threw his hands out to the side. "Is it 'cause I is black?" he queried angrily. Might as well put all those torturous hours forced to watch Ali G repeats with Faith to good use.

* * *

Petra took a breath as she and Martina stopped outside the hotel room holding the concealed entrance to the Orders Headquarters. According to Council Intelligence the room was permanently occupied by a trio of vampires. 

Three vampires, Petra shoved the laundry cart forward. It sounded easy enough, but Council intelligence had been wrong before. And the pressure of working with one of the Scoobies weighed heavy, she didn't want to foul up, disappoint one of the Council legends. "Are we ready?" she nodded at Martina's question. Her friend knocked on the door. "Laundry service!"

"Come in!" barked a Afrikaans voice. After a quick exchange of nervous looks, they obeyed.

The room they entered was a simple but comfortable-looking affair. Its most telling feature were its securely shut drapes, cutting out any possibility of light. The room's three vampires were a pair of hard-faced men and an attractive but haughty-looking woman. "Laundry service was here just a hour ago," the woman commented.

"Yes," Petra nodded, watching out of the corner of the eye as her fellow Slayer moved to flank the cart. "But this is," she smiled as she reached under the cart and pulled out a crossbow. "A special delivery."

The vampires' eyes all widened. Petra sent a bolt through the nearest vampire's heart, but before she could re-aim, the female was on her.

Petra grunted when the demon's fist smashed into her nose, splattering it into her face, the knowledge that Slayer healing would soon fix the problem scant comfort against the pain. Forcing herself to ignore the blood pumping down her face, she ducked the vampire's follow-up right to slam a crossbow bolt home.

"Are you alright Petra?" Martina queried.

Petra nodded. Already the blood loss was slowing, her Slayer healing kicking in. "I'm fine," she pulled out her pager with a beaming flourish. They'd done it, they'd secured the entrance.

* * *

Xander nodded as Petra's page came in, just seconds after Katrina's second confirming her team had dealt with the hotel's normal, human, internal security. After sending a quick acknowledgment, he fired off successive pages to Wood and Oz.

* * *

Feeling the vibration of his pager, Wood stepped into the arguing doorman's space and smiled apologetically. "Sorry about this," he drove a hard knee into the muscleman's groin. 

The man's eyes crossed and he began to double up only to be grabbed around his gorilla-thick neck and quickly choked into unconsciousness by one of Wood's Slayers. The girl looked up at him as she eased the man to the slick-wet pavement, an anticipatory gleam in her eyes. "It's time?"

"It's time," Wood confirmed, resisting temptation to shake his head. He just loved it when Slayers fought his battles for him. Made him feel like an extra in a Spice Girls' video.

* * *

Oz's eyebrow arched at his page. "Showtime." He sighed as he realised it meant losing yet another set of clothes. "Wonder if Council employment comes with a clothes allowance?" he chuckled to himself. He would have to talk to his union rep. 

For a few seconds he just stood there, shivering in the cold air. Then he felt it begin. The savage fury pumped through his veins, his muscles contorting, swelling from its primal call. He growled as golden brown hair began sprouting all over his body and he began to feel himself fill with an unimaginable power, his five senses suddenly far sharper than they were just seconds ago.

He burst out of the alley with an earth-shaking roar, tearing into the centre of down-town Prague. Ripping a street lamp out of the pavement, fragments of flags hitting him as he did so, he flung his makeshift over the cars racing past and through the window of the clothes shop opposite.

His diversion had begun.

* * *

"Harris!" 

Xander glanced towards the hotel entrance. Even in this stressful moment he couldn't resist a snigger at Wood's shout. "Let's go."


	15. 15

**FIC: Ravages Of Hell (15?)**

Angel blinked his way to consciousness. His stomach constricted with fear as he remembered his son and their companions only to relax when a quick glance confirmed that they were likewise battling their way awake.

The next thing he noticed was their surroundings. Somehow they'd been transported to a lush, green forest a million miles away from chilly, dreary Moscow. It was a puzzling although definite improvement. "Where are we?" Groo demanded.

"Well Toto," Gwen put in, "we're not in Kansas anymore that's for damn sure!"

Groo stared at Gwen, his broad brow creasing in confusion. "My name isn't Toto. I thought we were in Moscow, not Kansas."

"It's an Earth saying," Angel explained. "But the question's a good one. Where are we?"

"Oh yeah?" he glanced at his very worried looking son. "I've got a better one. How was the spell book we used to get here turned to this?" Connor held up a sheet of paper.

In a second he was at his son's side. "What is that?" he demanded.

"Gee pop," his son sarcastically drawled. "If it looks like a map, reads like a map, guess what? I'm going with map. The question is to where? I can't read it."

Angel glared at Connor. "Where did you get your sense of humour?"

"Not from you, that's for sure."

Angel chose to ignore Gwen's muttered comment. Instead he snatched the map from Connor. Waving away his son's protests he falteringly attempted to read the map. "It's a mixture of Latin, Mayan, Sumerian, and Greek," he said, a combination of Liam's tutoring and two and a half centuries' spent researching and reading ancient texts enabling him to read the long-dead languages. "According to this, we're heading for…." His voice trailed off. Unable to believe what he was translating, he re-read it. "It can't be…" he whispered.

"Can't be what dad?" his son queried.

He stared at the teen for a second, stunned by what he'd read. Shaking his head clear, he spoke. "The map," he looked at it again, " "it says it leads to Atlantis."

* * *

Faith groaned as she awoke, her head thumping. "Okay, which asshole slipped a Mickey in my drink?" Blinking her eyes clear, she looked around. The first thing she noticed was her friends crumpled around her, thankfully slowly awakening. "If I ever get my hands on that half-pint Ewok wannabe I'll rip his fucking spleen out." 

"You know what a Ewok is?"

Faith shot a stunned looking Rona an irritated glance. "Shit girl, child of the eighties remember? I know Star Wars." 'Sides, Andy had dragged them all to a showing of eps 4 -6, some sort of bonding shit. She'd gone practically kicking and screaming but once there, she'd watched secretly enthralled by a fairy tale in space.

'Course that was something no-body would ever find out. Or at least find out and live to tell anyone else her dark secret.

Returning her attention to their current predicament, Faith looked around. Her eyes widened as she realised the steaming jungle they had been in had been replaced by a leafy forest. "Where the fuck have you sent us, Red?"

"I….I," Faith glanced towards a wide-eyed, pale-faced Kennedy, "t…think I know."

"Oh yeah?" Faith arched a wary eyebrow. This did not look good. "Ya wanna share with the rest of the class?"

"The spell book turned to a map. A map that leads to Camelot."

Faith ignored the other girls' gasps and her own shock to cover it with a joke. "Comealot uh? Sounds like a dirty movie I made back in the day."

Faith concealed a smirk at the others' disgust. Best they all think of her as the ass-kicking, tough-talking trailer trash rather than discover the truth of the scared kid who used to steal books about mythical heroes and monsters from the local library while dreaming of her own white knight to rescue her from her own very real demons. There were some things about her past that nobody needed to know.

But a part of her, the scared little dreamer she'd once been, was wicked excited at the thought of seeing the legendary Arthurian castle. "So how do we get there?" she queried, unable to deny the slight note of eagerness in her otherwise nonchalant voice.

* * *

"Brrr," Buffy shivered as she looked around the icy tundra she and her companions had been teleported to. "I'm from California!" she protested through bluing lips. "The weather here isn't natural!" She broke off in her rant to look at her companions, including her boyfriend who was staring boggle-eyed at what appeared to be a map. "What's up?" 

The Immortal looked up, his face as white as the snow surrounding them. "We're in Midgard."

Buffy blinked. "Okay." She'd heard the word before, but for the life of her couldn't think where. "Is that somewhere in South America?" she asked hopefully. She'd always wanted to go there. Although the snow made it unlikely.

"No," she turned to see Michelle shaking her head in apparent exasperation. "It was the realm of mankind in Norse mythology."

"Okay," Buffy said slowly. Now that hadn't been on her list of places to visit. "Any idea how we got here?" Her question was met with shaking head and shrugging shoulder. Yeah, that was what she expected. Buffy squared her shoulders. "Right. First we find the Trident, then we worry about getting home."

* * *

"That's not possible!" Gwen blurted out, eyes wide. 

"Do you read Sumerian?" the thief just glared at him. "Guess you'll have to take my -. Hey!" Angel scowled at his son when he snatched the map away.

As usual Connor ignored him. Instead his son stared at the map. "You've got to be wrong."

Angel sighed mockingly. "A son doubting his father. Oh, the pain."

Connor briefly looked up from the map to glower at him. Darla's son opened his mouth but was beaten to it by a puzzled-sounding Groo. "What is this Atlantis?"

Angel dredged through his memories for an answer. "Atlantis is an earth legend. A lost civilisation theorised by an ancient philosopher called Plato. He said that 11,000 years ago there existed an island nation populated by a noble and powerful race reputed to be more advanced than even we are today. It ruled much of the known world but eventually its people were corrupted by their power. Angered by this, the gods sent a massive tidal wave and the island was swallowed up, its location, and history lost forever."

"Ah," understanding dawned in the Pylean champion's eyes. "Like the City States of Tygra?" Not having a clue what Groo was talking about, but guessing it had to amount to more or less the same thing, Angel nodded. "We have such mighty legends in Pylea." The hybrid looked troubled. "But how do we find the Trident? And how do we return to your dimension?"

Angel groaned. Two very good questions, and questions he didn't have a clue how to answer. Suddenly Connor spoke, his son's voice taut. "Oh I'd say we've got bigger problems."

Angel looked around. "Oh boy, oh boy." Somehow he thought the natives weren't friendly.

* * *

Buffy gritted her teeth against the whipping winds as she resolutely climbed up a craggy mountain-side. Her once smooth hands had been cut to ribbons by the razor-sharp rocks she clung to while it felt as if she was being flayed alive by the cold. "All in all, I don't think I was cut out to be a Viking warrior queen," she muttered. "Shame, I bet I'd look really hot in all that fur." 

Shoving aside her colossal fashion disappointment, Buffy glanced across at the man climbing beside her. "How are you doing?"

Her boyfriend shot her a strained smile. "This is far from the first mountain I've climbed, ma belle."

Buffy noticed that that reply didn't come close to answering her question but let it lie. After all, it must be hard for her boyfriend, being the non-powered one.

Eventually, she reached the top, climbing over the edge. Reaching down, she grabbed hold of the Immortal's Armani collar and lifted him onto the top. Next, she looked around. Her nose wrinkled at the sight that greeted her. The barren landscape looked exactly the same as the winter wasteland they'd just left behind. "Hardly worth the effort."

Buffy climbed off the ground, brushing the snow off her jeans as she did so. Boy was she glad she'd decided on jeans and sweatshirt rather than mini and crop-top. "Everybody okay?" Satisfied by the others' nods, Buffy started across the tundra.

And stopped dead when two monstrous shapes erupted out of the snow in front of her. "Oh, not good."

* * *

His eyes shot open as something incredible hit his consciousness. Shrugging off his sleepiness, he struggled out of bed and hurriedly dressed, his heart thumping with the echo of what he'd just felt. 

Once dressed, he made his way out of his quarters and down the spiral stairwell to the tiny courtyard beneath. He stopped dead at the sight that greeted him, throat filling with pride as it always did when he saw it. He could live to be a thousand and never tire of seeing it.

In the courtyard, a lithe girl moved through a complex series of sword positions that none of the many renowned warriors he knew could match. At his entry, the young woman stopped and curtseyed. "Greetings, Master."

He inclined his head slightly. "Greetings, Bronwyn. Your form is as immaculate as ever."

His charge's cheeks reddened. "Thank you sir. Do you thing one of the knights might consent to train with me?"

He chuckled and tugged as his flowing, white beard, amused as always by the warrior-maiden's enthusiasm. She was the third of these girls he'd had the honour of guiding. The first had lasted two years, the second three and a half, but by the grace of god, and with his brethren's help Bronwyn would last much, much longer. "No promises my sweet child, but we'll see." His expression sobered as he remembered the reason he was up at such an ungodly hour. "Keep on with your training," he instructed. "I must go and meet with our liege."

"Ah," Bronwyn nodded sagely. "I had wondered what disaster had dragged my learned teacher out of his bed at such an unlikely hour."

Shaking his head, he walked away with a chuckle. Such spirit, it was just a shame it was tempered with impudence. He guessed the best of the warrior-maidens would have that spirit. Somehow he found himself hoping that was so. "Good-bye."

A familiar sense of awe engulfed him as he entered his liege's vast hall. The chamber's high walls were adorned with weapons and the colourful banners of all the famed warriors that his master had drawn to him. Those celebrated knights themselves sat at the room's table, champions all.

But none of them could match their leader, a mighty-thewed man with granite features, coal black eyes, and thunderous eyebrows. At his entrance, the king rose. "Greetings, Mage," the monarch rumbled.

He dropped to one knee. "Mi' Lord. I have grave news. Something disturbing has entered our realm."

"You have sensed this?" the legendary king began to pace at his nod. Finally the ruler turned and looked at the assembled knights. "It seems that evil has dared to strike at the heart of Christendom! Knights of the Round Table, take to your horses and hunt it down!"


	16. 16

**FIC: Ravages Of Hell (16?)**

A camp in the Chiltern Hills, England.

"Sir!"

General de Boers nodded at his second in command. "Sit!" Once his subordinate had obeyed, he continued, his harsh accent betraying his Afrikaans origins. "Your report?"

"All companies have reported in. The concealment spells held, none of them were detected," his second in command replied, his own clipped tones indicating Sandhurst training.

"Excellent," De Boers nodded in satisfaction. Twenty years ago he'd been the head of South Africa's elite forces but the rise of the kaffir Malenda had put paid to that. After fleeing his homeland one step ahead of a war crimes tribunal he'd spent the next few years working as a mercenary in South America and Asia. Five years ago he'd been approached by an intermediary offering unimaginable wealth and power. Since that day he'd tirelessly recruited and trained a small army of elite soldiers drawn from numerous nations including South Africa, USA, UK, Germany, Russia, Japan, China, Iran, Saudi Arabia, Iraq, and Israel. Soldiers drawn together over national, religious, and ideological boundaries by the lure of millions. Over the past month, his men clandestinely entered the country, using the nation's private airfields and illicit landing posts, those who had facilitated their arrival murdered to ensure there was no trail. And now was the time to strike. "We're ready to move out?"

"Awaiting your order," his second-in-command paused, a grimace marring his matinee idol looks. "Sir, our scouts caught a trio of hitchhikers. What are your orders?"

De Boers blinked, momentarily shocked that his subordinate would bring such a trivial matter to him. "Shoot and bury them. Dismissed!"

"Yes sir!" the junior officer, rose, saluted, and marched out. Alone in his tent again, de Boers looked around and smiled. A mansion filled with three score super-amazons? A challenge even for a General with four hundred highly trained killers under his command. He wondered if it would be enough.

In two nights he'd find out.

* * *

Giles looked up at the knock on his door. "Hello?"

"It's me, Giles. Can I come in?"

Giles smiled as he recognised the voice coming through the door. "Door's always open for you, Riley."

"Thank you," the door swung open and the Iowan farm boy walked in. Giles nodded towards the chair at the opposite side of his desk. After shooting him a grateful smile, the soldier sat down.

"And how are your duties proceeding?" he queried.

"The new security equipment has all been installed."

"Excellent," Giles smiled before sobering. "And how goes the new training?"

The soldier shrugged his powerful shoulders. "They're all taking to it with the expected ease." Giles' proud smile dissipated at the UN military operative's next comment. "The only question remains is how will they react if they have to shoot humans? After all Faith didn't react at all well…" Riley paused. "But I've had some thoughts about that, if you'd like to hear them?"

"By all means," Giles agreed.

"The act that pushed Faith over the edge was the accidental killing of the deputy Mayor," Riley shrugged, his face apologetic. "Sorry, I don't think Buffy ever told me the man's name?"

"Allan Finch," Giles supplied with a heavy heart.

"Thanks. And yet by this time, Buffy had killed a number of humans, including the high school swimming coach and assassins, without suffering any apparent side-effects. But," Riley looked vaguely bemused. "Faith would seem the most hardened of the two."

"I'd concur with that assessment," Giles nodded.

"So why did she go off the rails?" The American continued before he could comment. "What if the Slayer spell protected Buffy from the after-effects of killing evil humans in self-defence, but not Faith from her accidental Slaying? In fact," the soldier leaned forward, eyes gleaming, "perhaps the conflict between her Calling compelling her to protect innocents and her actions triggered her nervous breakdown."

"Good lord," Giles croaked as he stared at the young man sat opposite. Sometimes it took an outsider's perspective on a conundrum to solve it. It was only a theory but to his ears it made perfect sense. "Riley, I -."

His eyes widened in shock when an eardrum-bursting explosion shook the building, flinging him to the ground. Head swimming, he accepted Riley's hand to struggle to his feet. Glancing up, he looked into the soldier's troubled eyes. "We're under attack," the young man declared.

"No really," Giles raised an eyebrow. "And I thought that building-shaking explosion was just an attack of wind."

* * *

Dana's eyes shot open. She looked wildly around her darkened room, its bare walls giving no clue as to what had awoken her. She smiled slyly as the noise continued and realisation set in. "Oh the pain."

Soon her high-pitched cackling was echoing around her tiny cell.

* * *

De Boers nodded in clinical satisfaction as his troops swarmed over the massive building's outer walls. Everything was going according to plan. His smile withered when the lawns surrounding the mansion erupted in a series of explosions, tearing through the first wave of men, showering their visceral body parts over those troops lucky enough to escape the mines. "Damn it," he muttered before raising and speaking into his loud-hailer. "Advance, men!"

Eventually some of his troops reached the front door. After hurriedly but efficiently placing charges, the mercenaries withdrew to a safe distance. A few seconds later, the portal exploded inwards. His smile now returning, De Boers moved forward.

* * *

Riley looked at the dapper Englishman, seeing the tension he felt reflected in his companion's eyes. "You get the non-combatants down to the shelter, I'll organise our defences."

Frustration briefly flickered in the Watcher's eyes before he curtly nodded. Obviously being unable to be involved in the battle rankled, but the former Sunnydale High librarian knew where his duty lay. As did Riley. "Very well. And good luck."

"Good luck to you too sir." Exiting the office at a run, the two of them split up and hurried to their posts.

* * *

Roger Whyndham-Pryce paced his quarters, fuming over an earlier conversation with the upstart that laughingly called himself his boss. This time it had been those bloody yank intruders and their godforsaken modifications to one of England's oldest forts. Bloody disgraceful.

"They'll be a reckoning." Shaking his head, he took a few calming breaths before approaching his heavily stacked book shelves and selecting a volume. Sitting down on his antique armchair, he poured himself and began to read, sipping carefully at the scalding drink as he did so.

BAAA! BAAAA! BAAAA!

"Damnation!" Roger thundered as the recently-installed alarm system blared into life. The klaxon boomed through the previously serene room, blasting his eardrums, and shocking him into spilling his piping hot tea into his lap and onto the book. "Bugger!" Roger glared down at the book. A first edition of '"The Pickwick Papers' ruined, and it was all that usurper's Giles' fault. Like everything else that had gone wrong with the Council over the past decade.

But it ended now. Reaching into his bedside drawer, he opened the secret panel at the back and pulled out the .38 hidden there. His smile widened as he checked the weapon was loaded. He might die tonight, but that was insignificant next to using the chaos to kill Rupert Giles. Only then would the stain be removed from his family honour. He started to hum his favourite hymn as he took some spare rounds and shoved them in his pocket. It wouldn't be long now.

* * *

De Boers followed his troops through the darkened fortress, eyes narrowing at the carnage that greeted him. Booby traps, ambushes, it was all adding up to a far higher body count than he'd originally envisaged. "Most unsatisfactory," he muttered.

Drawing his gun, he shoved open a wooden door to his left and walked in, eyes searching for any sign of trouble. The vast chamber was dominated by a long table surrounded by a score of high-backed chairs, the room's walls lined with portraits. He smiled slightly; he recognised this room from intelligence reports. "The Council Briefing Room," he muttered. Deciding to search for papers, he closed the door behind him, and strode further inside.

* * *

Riley moved ghost like through the castle's warren of secret passageways, darting out to ambush the intruders before disappearing back into the tunnels. His eyes narrowed as he recognised a brutish, thickly-built figure from the UN. wanted lists. Seeing the man enter the briefing room, he took his chance and hurried across the corridor in pursuit.

* * *

Lorne wheezed as he ran through the darkened corridors, the sound of gunfire and explosions making his head pound worse than Keith Moon's drums during a concert. He shook his head even as he hurried around another corner. He loved a fight as much as the next cowardly empathy demon, but he was as out of place at a fire fight as DMX at the local Klan meeting.

He skidded to a halt at the sound of humming coming from a near-by room, its discordant tone jarring his senses. "Oh no," he groaned. Just what he needed, now he'd have to be all fired stupidly noble. "If this gets me killed Angelcakes, you've got yourself a ghost," he promised. Quelling the urge to ignore what he was sensing, Lorne crept to the slightly ajar door of the room the humming was coming through and peered in.

His heart flipped flopped in his butt at the sight of Roger Whyndham-Pryce loading a revolver while humming the tune to 'Onward Christian Soldiers'. "Well this isn't good," he murmured before turning and hurrying back in the direction he'd come, back towards the fighting.

He had to get help and fast.


	17. 17

**FIC: Ravages Of Hell (17?)**

The White House Briefing Room, Washington DC.

The president nodded as his entire cabinet minus the vice-president and secretary of state rose upon his arrival. "Hello everyone, please sit," he ordered, "this is no time to stand on ceremony." He himself quickly sat down, noting the drawn looks on the men and women sat on both sides of the room's long table. "Any clues on who's caused this? Islamic fundamentalists?"

"No sir," the head of the CIA shook his head. "Our human intelligence sources have come up with no evidence supporting that theory. Indeed," the life-long agent hesitated, "we've received unconfirmed reports that the Islamic terrorist group leaders and their backers have also been hit."

"Uh," he pursed his lips together, "that's something at least. If true."

"Our satellites confirm the CIA's reports," put in the NSA's chief, "there's been increased activity on email accounts and cellulars owned by known Islamic terrorists. All indicating anger and bewilderment at various hits on their assets. In some cases blaming us."

"Um," he leaned back in his seat before turning to the Secretary of the Treasury. "Have those VIPs I ordered been taken into protective custody?"

"Yes," the man hesitated, "sir, if I might protest. The Secret Service was never meant to protect private individuals."

"I know, John. But these people are fundamental to our people's well-being." Dismissing the man's complaints, he turned to the Attorney-General. "Any leads on who's behind these attacks?"

The Attorney-General tugged nervously on his tie before replying. "The FBI, AFT, DEA, Homeland Security, the US. Marshals, and local units have come up with no substantial leads," the nation's top law officer finally admitted.

"Damn it, Allan!" he exclaimed. "Does the phrase 'top priority' mean nothing around here?"

"Sir," he glanced towards the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. "What little intelligence we have seems to lean towards the conclusion that the attacks both here and abroad are linked. Perhaps you should consider declaring martial law."

Martial law. He shuddered inwardly at the images that this phrase conjured up and the terror that enacting it would cause an already increasingly uneasy populace. "No," he shook his head. "At the moment this has been limited to precision attacks. If it escalates I'll consider it then, until then no. But," he paused in contemplation, "draw up plans for the rapid withdrawal of our troops from all foreign nations, including Iraq. And I'd like some studies on the effect of martial law on the economy, the country, and morale. And keep looking for a source, people. Once we've found it, I don't care if I have to send in SWAT, the SEALs, or nuke the damn bastards, we're putting them out of commission permanently!" A strained silence followed his outburst. Gathering himself, he continued. "Who else has been hit?"

"South American drugs barons, oriental crime lords, religious leaders, industrialists, international power-brokers." The CIA director shook his head. "It would be quicker to say who hasn't."

"And the Council?" he queried, bringing up the age-old body that historically only the president and the head of his counter-intelligence unit had known about for the past few centuries.

The CIA's director shot the puzzled-looking cabinet members a nervous glance before replying. "We've heard nothing from them."

"Damn it!" Now more than ever he wanted a drink, but decades of sobriety couldn't be tossed away so easily.

"Might I also suggest that until this crisis is over that you, the vice-president, Vice President, Speaker of the House, and the leader of the senate, not be in the same place at any one time."

A long silence followed the National Security Advisor's suggestion. Conscious that every eye had turned to him, the President took a moment before slowly nodding. The implied admission that the Secret Service might not be able to protect them was a bitter pill to swallow, but given current events had to be considered. "Add the Secretary of State, Homeland Security, Defence, and yourself to that list," he agreed before standing. "Ladies, gentlemen. You have work to do. Get to it."

* * *

NATO HQ, Brussels, Belgium.

"Gentleman," Jaap de Hoop banged his fist on the desk before him. "Gentlemen!" he was relieved when silence fell at his roar. "Gentlemen," he continued at a lower volume, "we are here to discuss the recent rash of assassinations. Let's come to some sort of order."

He looked around the room, seeing a number of frightened faces. But then it was hardly surprising. Many of them had lost friends to the mysterious power that was attacking them and they were far from familiar with murder striking directly at them. Crime was something that blighted the lower classes, not daring to strike at them.

Until now.

Gathering himself, he continued. "Now, I have a report from Cardinal Brooks of the Vatican," he turned towards the guest, "Cardinal?"

A gasp went up as the heavily bandaged man was wheeled to the podium, his left leg torn off by what the religious man claimed was a demon attack on the Vatican. A ridiculous claim, except the right side of his face had also been clawed off and the vast majority of the Swiss Guard who patrolled the small city-state had also been ripped apart, some so disfigured that they were unrecognisable save from dental records.

Troubling times indeed.

* * *

UN. Security Council, NY

The Secretary-General's heart thumped as he made his way into the council's chamber, conscious that the eyes of all 15 representatives were fixed on him. Never since the UN's formation had they faced such a threat. And yet, he couldn't tell the members the full, horrible truth, not without starting a worldwide panic that would be impossible to control. Indeed, he seriously doubted there was anything they could do but pray. The power to deal with what was terrorising the world lay in other hands. "Ladies, gentlemen," he nodded taking his seat at the head of the hoof-shaped table. "I wish to call this meeting to order."

"Sir," the UN representative from Japan spoke into his mike, his halting English masking a keen mind. "All of our intelligence services have received reports of attacks on not only our own sovereign soils, but also of many other nations," the Oriental glanced around the hushed room. "It is clear that these attacks are all the workings of a single organisation. But which one? None of the Islamic terrorist groups have the resources and influence to carry this range of attacks out. There'd be no profit in an international crime cartel doing this. Indeed a number of them -."

The man's voice trailed off as an aide rushed over to him. His eyes widened as he read the note that had just been passed to him. "Ladies, gentlemen. It appears a fresh wave of attacks have been launched."

"Against who?" queried the French ambassador.

"It appears the leaders of the world's intelligence services have been targeted this time."

* * *

EU, Brussels

"Yes sir," the British foreign secretary nodded as his PM finished giving him instructions, "I understand, sir," he agreed into the mobile. "I'll ring back immediately," he promised before hanging up and looking towards the two Special Branch agents sat opposite him in his limo, neither their muscles nor the guns under their left armpits hidden by the cut of their custom-made suits. The two men were newly added to his security detachment, but given the troubled times they found themselves in, his inner socialist hadn't protested their addition, rather had been gladdened by their addition. "Let's go."

"Yes sir," one of the granite-jawed thugs rapped on the tinted window. A second later and the door swung open. The man jumped out. "Ready sir."

The EU security guards rushed down the steps to meet him, shoving aside what few press there were there, the majority doubtless off covering what assassinations had been leaked to the press. Half-way up the steps he was joined by his counterpart from Italy, the man's own security following closely behind. After a rushed exchange of greetings, the Italian got down to business. "We've had a rumour that the head of your Free-Masons has joined the murdered lists, is this correct?" He nodded tersely, his counterpart's face sagged. "Ah, I went to Oxford with him. Good man, he'll be missed. Any idea on what's causing this?"

"No," he lied. "Our intelligence services don't have a clue," that was true at least, "yours?"

"No," the Italian stopped as the doorman opened the Parliament building's front door. "There's rumours that the French and Germans are going to use this crisis to push for the earlier creation of the Rapid Reaction Force."

"That's all I need." He groaned. The British press would have kittens at just a whiff of that, more grist to the mill of those neo-fascist Eurosceptics who dared to the righteousness of their tearing down of Britain's insidious national pride. And it wasn't as if a Rapid Reaction Force could help against what they faced. Squaring his shoulders, he took a breath as he stepped into the building. Somehow he thought things were going to get a lot worse before they got better.

* * *

CIS, Minsk, Belarus

"It's true is it?" Vladimir Rushailo queried as he hurried into the Commonwealth of Independent States' headquarters, his assistant running beside him, their armed security marching around them, their hard eyes skirting the near-by shadows for any sign of trouble, and their fingers stroking the triggers of their sub-machine guns. He supposed it should make him feel safe, but it didn't.

He didn't think anything would make him feel safe again.

"Yes, sir," the pretty girl he'd hired as much for her decorative quality as her shorthand replied. "We've just had a confirming report in. First Deputy Director Brezhnev was murdered in St. Petersburg. Him and three men security team were," the woman's voice trembled, "ripped apart. As if they'd been attacked by a pack of wild animals."

He shuddered. "If only it was wild animals," he muttered as he reached the doors of the headquarters. He didn't know what great illness was assailing the world, but he knew it was powerful and stank of evil, causing a stain that he doubted would ever be washed away.

* * *

Arab League, Cairo, Egypt.

"We must strike back at the infidels!" exclaimed the Syrian delegate. "The Americans must pay!"

"No!" exclaimed the Jordan representive, rising from his seat. "It is those Zionist pigs! They dare to strike into the very heart of our nations! Killing those who fight for our freedom!"

Amr Mossa raised his hands. Such was the esteem he was held in, the diplomats quickly silenced. "Peace be with you," he softly counselled before raising his voice. "You all know me, I am no lover of either the Zionist or the Great Satan. But there is no evidence that either are behind these attacks. Indeed, our own sources have indicated they have suffered their own not inconsiderable losses. I would counsel for moderation until we have more information."

"Better to wait and strike wisely, than act rashly and escalate the situation," put in the Libyan delegate, making their earlier agreed comment.

"Quite so," Amr nodded at his supporter.

"Then what do we do!" demanded the Algerian member. "We must have action!"

"Watch your borders," he counselled. "Watch them like hawks."

* * *

Assembly Of The African Union

Olusegun Obasanjo looked around the raging council room, heart breaking. All around stood armed guards, three times their normal number, such was the crisis. All the work he and his predecessors had done, destroyed by some new, unnamed but terrible horror. After a long, rattling breath he spoke, his hands firmly gripping the podium before him.

He couldn't think of his family, of the unimagined monsters he'd seen tearing them apart as his guards dragged him to what passed for safety.


	18. Chapter 18

**FIC: Ravages Of Hell (18?)**

Petra spun around as the door crashed open, her action copied by her companions, only to stop when she recognised the interlopers as Mr. Harris, Mr. Wood, and her fellow Slayers. "Room secured, sir," she resisted temptation to salute.

Her knees almost buckled at the one-eyed man's smile. "I can see that. Well done," the American looked around, "well done all of you." Petra blushed at the praise. The Sunnydale hero's face turned serious. "Now-."

The hotel door burst open and a pair of security guards rushed in. They were met by Wood who caught the first with a thumping kick to the groin. The man gurgled and began to double up. Wood grabbed the winded man by the collar and shoved him into his colleague's path.

Eyes widening, the security guard attempted to stop but crashed into the other man, sending him stumbling helplessly forward. Wood leapt into the air, catching the unfortunate second man full in the face with a roundhouse kick, knocking him flat out. The first man was up to his knees when Wood caught him with a downward cross to the temple, likewise knocking him out.

"As I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted," Xander nodded towards Wood before looking at the bed. "Let's get that moved shall we? Martina? Petra?"

Her fellow Slayer joined her in flipping over the room's four-postered bed, revealing the trapdoor beneath. For a long second they all stared at the heavy wooden door. Eventually Xander flung the door open, revealing a set of torch lit steps leading downwards. "Let's go."

* * *

"Master! Master! Master!"

Master Argo's head snapped up when one of his minions flung the double doors to his throne room open and charged in. "What is the meaning of this disturbance?"

The minion, a thickly muscled Rodaz by the unusual name of Clint, quailed at his roar before dropping to one knee, his gaze fixed downwards. "M…my apologies, mi' lord, but we've been invaded."

"Invaded!" Argo's eyes bulged and breath came in shocked gasps. In sixteen centuries the Order's headquarters had remained impregnable. And now it was attacked while under his stewardship. His two hearts started to pound erratically. "Who dares!" he thundered.

The Rodaz's reply hit him like a thunderbolt. "Slayers, it's the Slayers!"

* * *

Pavel Baros' eyes widened as he slammed on his patrol car's brakes, pulling the car to a screeching halt. "I….it's not possible."

"And yet there it is," his partner, Karel Neved, whispered.

"W…what do we do?" Baros asked, unable to tear his eyes away from the terrifying apparition before them. The seven foot tall, fur covered monster in the road most definitely couldn't be a werewolf, no matter how much it looked like one. The beast was flipping over parked cars, ripping lampposts out of the ground and pitching them through shop windows, and punching holes through walls. At least it hadn't attacked humans. Yet.

"Calling for back-up would be a start," Karel suggested.

"Good idea." Eyes still fixed on the gigantic beast before them, Baros reached for the radio before pausing. "What do I say?"

For a second his question was met by silence. "Help would be a start," his partner commented.

* * *

Xander swallowed as he reached the bottom of the steps, entering the stone-paved corridor, its walls were adorned with colourful tapestries depicting blood-curdling scenes of murder and torture, while the cloying stench of incense hung heavy in the shadowy air, clogging up the lungs of him and his companions. "Home, sweet home," he muttered sarcastically before turning to the others. "Martina, Petra, with me. The rest of you know what to do."

Even as he gave out his instructions, he checked his armament of shotgun, grenades, automatic, and broadsword. "I knew I should have packed my rocket launcher," he sighed before turning towards his companions. "Lets go."

Xander wiped at the sweat beading down his forehead, the subterranean hell's stifling heat making his clothes stick to him. Over the past few torrid hours, they'd fought their way through a horrifying collection of demons. But now, he glanced at the thick wooden doors before them, they'd reached their target, the Order's main chamber. "Ready?" his two companions, their faces dirty and streaked with sweat and their eyes nervous, nodded. "Get back!" he slammed a lump of C4 onto the door before retreating and putting in a pair of ear plugs.

A half second after he'd put in the second plug and the door exploded inwards, ripping the door off its hinges as it flew into the darkened room beyond. Coughing slightly at the resulting smoke, Xander removed his ear plugs before nodding to his Slayer escort. "Be careful," he warned before stepping into the chamber.

* * *

The walls of the pentagonal meeting hall were lined with portraits of demons, probably former Order rulers. The darkly stark room was dominated by a central stone dais upon which stood a bare-looking throne.

A cowled figure sat on the throne. Despite its long robe, Xander could tell the sat figure had an Olympian set of muscles. He swallowed when the figure stood, revealing its towering height. "Have you come to pay homage?"

Xander's blood chilled at the monster's hiss. "Actually," he eased the hammer back on his shotgun. "We're here to kill you."

The monster's teeth gleamed in the darkness. "Then do it!"

* * *

Wood winced as an ogre punched him in his left shoulder, his arm erupting in pain. Biting back a scream, he slid under the misshapen beast's thundering haymaker, the punch shattering a brick in the wall behind him. He retaliated with a back-handed sword swing that ripped into the monster's left thigh.

Blood gushed out of the ogre's meaty limb. The pain of his attack turned the monster berserk; its roars threatening to burst his ear-drums, the ogre snatched his sword out of his hand and flung it clattering to the ground. Then he grabbed Wood in a crushing bear-hug. Which given the ogre's body odour was a lot closer than he wanted to be.

"Argggh!" Wood flailed at the ogre's hideous face, trying to punch his way loose. It was like punching stone, his knuckles bruising even as his vision blurred and ribs creaked until the ogre's crushing assault.

He gasped as the pressure was suddenly released and he was unceremoniously dumped on the ground. Blinking his eyes clear, he looked up in bemusement.

His confusion cleared as he watched the decapitated monster fall to the ground beside him. Ruby looked down at him from behind where the demon had stood, the aptly named flame-haired Slayer's face crinkled in concern. "Are you alright?" I'm sorry I didn'-."

He waved the freckle-faced Slayer to silence as he stumbled to his feet. "I'm fine," he smiled. "Thanks to you." His smile withered as he thought about the others. What about them, were they alright? "Are the last of the explosives planted?" The cheerleader nodded. "Great, let's get out of here."

* * *

Oz growled as he powered into a side street, turning down into an alley, his wide shoulders scraping the walls flanking him and his paws slapping against the alley's cobblestones.

He had to give it to Xander, his diversionary plan had worked. Altogether too well. It seemed as if half of Prague's police force was hunting him. He'd had visions of pitchfork-wielding mobs hunting him down like something out of a Hammer horror film, but they hadn't come true. Yet.

Smelling a pair of sweating, trembling policemen waiting in ambush at the far end of the alley, he charged out, tore the open-mouthed patrolmen's pistols from their hands, and smashed their heads together. Dropping the unconscious men to the ground, he hurried to the place he'd hidden his change of clothes.

* * *

Xander recoiled instinctively when the roaring finger leapt to his feet, knocking his throne over in the process. The demon tore his robe off, revealing the powerful physique of a gargoyle complete with leathery, bat-shaped wings fixed to its v-shaped back. The loin-clothed monster stared down at them, the hatred in its yellow eyes chilling in their intensity, and made even worse by the sight of its forked tongue lolling over its teeth. "WHO DARES!" screeched the mammoth demon.

Xander hesitantly raised his free hand. "Uh, that would be us." This was a very bad idea.

The gargoyle screeched again before leaping off the dais and towards them, wings furiously flapping. Xander raised his shotgun and fired.

The order master was flung backwards by the consecrated ammo, crashing to the ground in an ungainly heap at the foot of the dais. "See," Xander beamed at his companions, "that wasn't-." His voice trailed off when the grey-skinned monster clambered to its clawed feet, green viscera oozing out of a gaping wound, but the baleful glare in its eyes undimmed. "Oh crap."

"Aieeee!" The monster lunged forward.

"Wait!" The two Slayers leapt to meet it, ignoring his shouts for caution, and were swept aside by the bulldozing demon's rampage at him. Xander tried desperately to re-load his shotgun but before he had chance, the monster had its claws around his throat, choking him as it smashed his head into the wall behind. "I recognise you," the demon hissed. "Xander Harris. The least of the Scoobies."

"Is that right?" Xander's hackles rose at the gargoyle's dismissive tone. Although at the moment, he gurgled for air, it was hard to argue with the assessment. Both because he was easily getting his ass handed to him and also because he was struggling to breath. "But still," he drew his automatic and fired at the monster, "I managed this!"

The top quarter of the monster's head was torn off by the shot, splattering blood everywhere. The demon shrieked as he flew backwards, crashing onto the ground. Xander's eye widened as the monster started to rise. "Oh, give me a break!" he complained, his voice still hoarse from his near strangulation.

The two Slayers appeared behind the gargoyle, their swords slicing through the demon's hamstrings. The gargoyle fell to his hands and knees. Xander levelled his automatic and fired. The round smashed into the beast, tearing what remained of its head off its shoulders. Xander looked towards the Slayers. "Remember when I tell you not to run, don't. I'm," Xander rubbed at his aching throat, "attached to my throat."

"Just not your eyes apparently?" queried one of the Slayers.

Xander shot the Slayer a glare. "Now I know how Giles felt," he muttered before raising his voice. Let's get out of here and back to England." He just hoped everyone else's mission went well.


	19. Chapter 19

**Ravages Of Hell (19?)**

"Hello," he didn't bother with a smile, it seemed so trite today, after all that had happened today, "I'm Trevor MacDonald and this is the ITV Evening News on 24th May 2005. Today, Britain was hit by a wave of freak earthquakes, the cities of London,. Edinburgh, Glasgow, Manchester, Newcastle, Liverpool, Cardiff, and Leeds all suffered tremors measuring between 4 and 7 on the Richter Scale, causing widespread damage. Seismologists are at a loss to explain this rash of quakes." He paused for a second. "The prime minister will be making a statement later and the government has set up a help line for those worried about loved ones-."

* * *

"Hello, I'm Bob Schieffer and this is the CBS Evening New on the 24th May 2005," he smiled into the camera before assuming a sombre expression. "The governors of Kentucky, Alabama, Georgia, and Tennessee have all declared states of emergency and called out the National Guard after widespread rioting between black and white youths in many of the four states' major cities." He paused to glance at his note before looking back into the camera. "And now for a report from our correspondent on the ground, Allen Pizzey. Allen, any news on what exactly caused the violence?"

"No," the reporter's strained face appeared on camera. "Usually with such widespread rioting, an event such as a miscarriage of justice or a speech from a prominent figure from either side of the race hate groups would be required to spark such mayhem, but nothing significant appears to have happened. Authorities are at a loss as to a cause."

"And how are the authorities coping with the rioting?" Bob asked.

"Official statements say the police and national guard have the situation under control," the reporter grimaced. "But our sources tell us they're barely hanging on."

* * *

"Hello, I'm Akiro Hase, and this is G60 Minutes on the 24th May 2005." He struggled to keep his calm for the sake of the millions watching Japan's highest rated nightly news program. "From the hours of 3:00 to 7:00 AM, Osaka was hit by a storm of perhaps as many as fifty meteorites causing widespread damage. The hard-pressed emergency services have estimated loss of lives exceeding 50,000. Later in the program we'll have a report from our man on the scene, but first, to help us perhaps understand how and why this is happening, here's one of Japan's most renowned weather experts, Rikki Inoki. Hello, Rikki."

The greying scientist forced a smile. "Hello. The truth is, the scientific community are at a loss. Nobody has no idea what caused this. Some have suggested that the destruction of the ozone layer has caused this, but I find that unlikely."

"Could it be the military perhaps?" he suggested.

The scientist shook his head. "It's highly unlikely that ours or any government have the means or technology to create the havoc we've experienced today."

* * *

"Hello, I'm Bruno Masure and this is 20 Heures Le Journal on 24th May 2005." He paused for a second. "Today, our country descended into chaos when a messianic figure predicting the end of the world galvanised our country's youth into rioting. Paris, Marseille, Lyon, Nice, Strasbourg, Bordeaux, and Nantes have all been affected and the police have been called in to subdue rioters, in some cases using CS-gas and water canons. In a moment, we'll get on the spot reports from Paris and Lyon, but first a report from Phillipe La Breton from the police on just who this 'prophet' is, Phillipe?"

"Hello, Bruno," his colleague greeted him, a grave look on his face. "An hour ago and the police released a statement about the head trouble-causer. This information was apparently gleaned from the Direction de la Surveillance du Territoire. It identified the rioters' leader as an Andre Paul, a forty-six year old pipe-fitter with a history of religious fanaticism and mental illness dating back to the early 80s. The police are however baffled as to how such a man, described as a nonentity, has gained such influence so quickly."

* * *

"Today has been a shocking day the world over," Maria Miel forced a smile into the camera. "Hello I'm Maria Miel and this La 2 Noticias de TVE on the 24th May 2005. And it has been no exception here, in Madrid. Today, the capital city has been bombarded by a rain of frogs, thousands of the amphibious creatures have somehow fallen from the skies." She shook her head before turning to the man sat beside her. "With me I have Jose Guerrero, our science correspondent." She paused to look at her notes. "Jose, does the science community have any idea what has caused this?"

"No," the scientist's smile was as forced as her earlier one. "They have no idea."

* * *

"Hello, I'm Avi Rosenthal, and this is Isarel Today on 24th May 2005." Avi glanced down at his hastily prepared script before continuing. "Today the skies over Jerusalem were filled with unidentified shooting lights." He paused as film with commentary of the lights burning across the sky was shown. Once the film had ended he continued. "I have with me, Jacob Cohen, a Mossad officer. Jacob, hello."

The middle-aged but still powerfully-built bowed his slightly greying head. "Hello, Avi."

"Is it true here is speculation in some quarters that the lights are the precursor to some sort of terrorist atrocity?"

"No, that's unfounded," the crumpled intelligence officer shook his head. "Whatever technology caused the light is far too advanced to be the work of Hamas. Or of any of the neighbouring nations unfriendly to the State Of Isarel."

"That's a relief," Avi was careful to smile into the camera. "Then what are they?"

His guest's fixed smile slipped slightly. "At the moment we're still running tests."

* * *

"Hello, I'm Oleg Breznevh, and this is Vremya News on 24th May 2005. Today Moscow, St. Petersburg, and a number of other cities have been hit by acts of co-ordinated violence. Government buildings, power stations, and media outlets, including our own offices, came under attack from groups of heavily armed men." He paused to glance at his notes. "And now to our security correspondent in Moscow, Boris Drezeh. Boris, has any motive been uncovered for the violence?"

"It appears a group of disaffected oligarchs attempting to overthrow our beloved president were behind these attacks, Oleg."

"And these men were extremely well-trained?"

"Yes," the reporter nodded. "Most of those captured have admitted to formerly being members of the world's special forces."

"Any further information on just how many attacks and how many men were involved?" he queried.

"Yes," the security correspondent nodded. "According to a statement issued by the government, there were thirty-seven attacks in ten cities by groups ranging from twenty to fifty in size on government buildings, media outlets, and power stations. In addition," the reporter's face paled, "there were sixteen assassination attempts on high-ranking political figures, including President Putin himself. These attempts have ranged from car bombs, road minings, and sniper attacks, and have left five men dead and another two critical."

"And what measures have the government ordered to counteract these attacks?" he queried.

"Aside from foiling the sabotage attempts and taking the mercenaries into custody, there is a rumour the government has placed bounties on the heads of no less than fourteen Russian billionaires currently living aboard."

"Really?" Oleg's jaw dropped. That he hadn't known. "Any information on which specific oligarchs?"

The reporter shook his head, his face grim. "Not as yet."

* * *

"Hello, I'm Manuel Ruido, and this is Jornal Nacional on 24th May 2005. Today, the authorities are struggling to contain an outbreak of water poisoning in Sao Paulo, which has resulted in dozens of deaths and several thousand people being rushed into hospital. And now to our reporter on the scene, Fia Lindo. Fia," he turned his attention to the striking beauty on a satellite link, "any news on a death toll?"

"Yes," the reporter recently voted one of Brazil's top ten most beautiful women looked anything but glamorous right now, haggard and drawn, appearing decades older than her twenty-seven, "the health ministry released a statement thirty minutes ago – the death toll now stands at eighty-five. Our sources predict it will top a hundred before the end of the day."

"I see," Manuel nodded gravely. "I understand that the majority of deaths have occurred in the very young, very old, and infirm?"

"That's correct," Fia nodded, "healthy adults affected suffer from vomiting, stomach cramps, and muscle spasms. We have no idea how long these symptoms will last in those affected."

"And does anyone know what caused this pollution?"

"Some sources have speculated it was caused by some sort of terrorist attack," the female reporter replied, "but in truth they had no-." Manuel instinctively pulled back when the reporter's face contorted in pain and a stream of milky grey liquid spewing from her mouth, splattering the camera lens. A half-second later, the reporter hit the ground, her normally graceful body rolled up into a wildly convulsing ball.

* * *

"Hello, I'm Genji Chen. This is China Today on 24th May 2005." Genji smiled into the camera. "Today the Qinghai Province was subjected to an unprecedented rainfall, resulting in mass flooding of theYantgze River and the loss of thousands of lives."

* * *

"Hello, I'm Omar Khan. This is Star Of India News on 24th May 2005." He took a breath before continuing. "Today, forces of the warlike Pakistani people moved closer to the border of our part of Kashmir. Our brave forces likewise responded by advancing on the borders. A spokesman for the government said 'we will not give up an inch of our land'." 


	20. 20

**FIC: Ravages Of Hell (20?)**

Lorne groaned as he recognised the figure hurrying towards him. He'd almost been caught twice in his search for assistance. But this person was almost as bad as the hired killers. "Between a rock and a hard place," he muttered. Whatever that meant. Humans, they made about as much sense as Christian rock. Steeling himself, he stepped out of the shadows. "I need your help."

The figure started, halted, and looked furtively over his shoulder before looking back at him, an eyebrow raised sarcastically. "If you need directions," the man pointed over Lorne's shoulder, "the bunker's the other way. Now, if you don't mind-."

"It's Giles," Lorne interrupted, a note of desperation entering his voice, "he's in trouble. Whyndham-Pryce is going to use the fight as an opportunity to kill him."

"Ripper?" Ethan's face paled momentarily before regaining its usual nonchalant mask. Still waters indeed. "Well I've never liked that arrogant bugger. I'd like a chance to spit in his eye. Which way?"

* * *

De Boers shuffled through the papers neatly piled on the desk, squinting slightly in the half-light, wishing he could turn the full lights on, but not wishing to risk detection at this delicate point. Hearing the click of the door behind him, he glanced over his shoulder but saw nothing. Deciding he mustn't have closed the door properly, he walked over and shoved it shut. Nodding in satisfaction, he turned back to the desk, intent on carrying on his investigation.

And froze at the arm around his throat and the gun muzzle shoved in his ear. "General Dieter De Boers," a deep American accent whispered in his other ear. "No. 7. on the UN's Most Wanted List. I'd like to say it's a pleasure, but," he swallowed at the click of the automatic being cocked, "my mother didn't raise any liars."

Desperation surging through his veins, he snatched at the man's hand, knocking it upward, even as it fired. Plaster fell from the ceiling where the bullet hit.. At the same exact moment he drove his head back into his assailant's mouth, eliciting a surprised gasp. Spinning around, he drew his own gun only to have it kicked out of his hand. Snarling ferally, he lunged at the younger man, a tall, good-looking boy, hoping to barrel him over with his heavier bulk.

* * *

Andrew skidded to a halt at the sound of approaching footsteps, boots thudding onto the carpeted floor, almost falling on his backside. Unable to make anything more than panicked, bleating sounds, he looked around desperately for somewhere to hide.

Seeing a darkened doorway, he bolted to it and tried the door. If it was locked, he was done for…..

He let out a relieved gasp when the door swung soundlessly open. Counting his lucky stars, he hurried inside, quietly closing the door behind him. Looking around, he found he was in one of the classrooms used to teach Slayers the academic side of their Calling. But not a history of comic books like he'd sagely suggested.

Seeing the suit of armour by the door, Andrew hurried over and slid into the narrow hiding place behind it, right hand still clutching tightly to the meat cleaver he'd been carving the night's meal with when the alarm had blared out. His heart tightened when the door swung open and a slight figure ran in only to relax when he recognised Dawn. He opened his mouth to hiss to his friend.

And closed it again when a trio of burly men charged into the room and encircled the former Key.

* * *

"Oh bollocks!" Giles cursed as he looked around the bunker's occupants. All the support staff, cleaners, kitchen staff, and researchers had made it to the bunker, leaving the battleground clear for those experienced in such things. But no Andrew. And far more worryingly, no Dawn.

Turning, he headed for the door. "Hold on!" Willow grabbed his arm. "You can't go out there! It's madness!"

He turned to the red-haired witch. "I know, Willow. But I promised Buffy I'd look after her." Ignoring the witch's continuing protests, he turned and hurried out of the bunker, slamming the heavy door behind him.

What seemed an eternity later and he was heartily regretting his promise. Since leaving the bunker, he'd been travelling the castle's darkened passageways searching for Dawn. There'd been no sign of the younger Summers girl, but plenty of the on-going carnage – the sound of fighting, power-burns on the wall, and even the occasional corpse. He himself had ambushed one group-.

"Hello, Rupert."

Giles started at the voice behind him only to belatedly relax when he recognise the cultured tones. Turning, he looked at his portly deputy. "Roger!" he hissed as he looked around the shadowy dormitory he'd been vainly searching. "What are you doing here?" he demanded. "Why aren't you in the bunker?"

"Oh, I'll get there." He gasped when the sneering Watcher pulled out a revolver and aimed its muzzle at him. "But I've got some important business to deal with first."

* * *

Riley groaned as the heavy-set South African charged him. Stupid, very stupid, he cursed inwardly. He really shouldn't have been caught by the general's sneak attack.

Gathering his thoughts, he sidestepped the South African's rush, grabbed the war criminal's collar, twisted, and flung the soldier face-first into the wall. Spinning around, he crashed a right into his adversary's kidneys.

"Aaaah," the general gasped before falling to his hands and knees. Riley stepped over the man and raised his hand to deliver a karate chop to the deck.

"Shit!" he yelped when the general grabbed his right foot and yanked, knocking him onto his back.

The general was on him instantly, punching him again and again, his weapon forgotten in his animalistic fury. Ignoring the pounding he was receiving, Riley wrapped his legs around the South African's portly body and squeezed. The mercenary grunted and attempted to rear up, but he held firm, his hands reaching up to grip the sides of the older man's face and stab his thumbs into his rival's eyes, gouging them.

The man's eyes squelched under his attack, and the mercenary's mouth opened in a scream but he cut him off with a fist to the throat. The general's craggy face purpled. Riley grabbed him beneath his chin and on the top of his head and twisted. He winced slightly at the resulting crack before shoving the now limp body off him, and clambering to his feet. He laughed when caught a glimpse of himself in the window opposite. He looked a mess with his bleeding and broken nose, rapidly closing right eye, and cut bottom lip. But, he glanced down at the corpse at his feet, he was still alive.

* * *

Andrew quaked in his hiding place as the three thugs surrounded his friend, their expressions leering as they commented on the nubile teen's beauty. "Cor," drawled a thick-set cockney, "she's a bit of alright ain't she?"

"Aye laddie, she is," agreed a wry Geordie, normally Andrew had trouble understanding them, but tonight he was all too terribly clear. "Get your kit off lassie."

"Spoils of war," agreed the third man, a short but hefty Texan.

"Aiee!" Suddenly Dawn launched herself into the air, exploding into a roundhouse kick her sister would have been proud of. The blow smashed into the cockney's face, splattering viscera onto previously pristine suit of armour Andrew was cowering behind.

"Bitch!" The moment Dawn's feet touched the ground, the Geordie caught Dawn with a backhand slap to the face, knocking her to the floor. "Like it rough do you? Well," the man kicked the former key in the stomach making her gasp for air, before leaning over her, "that can be arranged."

The sound of clothing ripping jarred Andrew out of his horrified stupor. Reaching out a shaking hand, he shoved the suit of armour. The moment it smashed to the ground, he charged out of his hiding place to confront the three hired killers as they turned towards him.

His cleaver slashed sideways, ripping through the Geordie's throat with the same brutal ease he'd torn through Dawn's blouse just seconds ago. Andrew's ears burst under the twin assaults of the Geordie's screams and the deafening boom of a gun firing.

He spun around to face the Texan unable to believe that the gunman had missed in such a confined space. Han Solo never would have. The Texan's eyes widened in an almost comical fashion when he charged the man, and slashed with his cleaver, slicing him from ear to ear.

The Texan gurgled, blood foaming out of his mouth as he fell to his knees. "You crazy bugger!"

Andrew turned at the voice to see the Cockney rising from the floor, gun in hand. Quickly weighing up his options, Andrew took the only chance left to him, and raised the cleaver above his head, and threw it. The Cockney screamed when the cleaver didn't hit him in the heart as he'd planned, but slammed into his left arm, almost ripping his arm off at the elbow, spewing blood everywhere, and causing him to drop his gun. Andrew nodded as the still shrieking man fell on his back, strangely detached from the vicious skirmish he found himself in. He stepped forward, intent on finishing the thug off.

And gasped when a great lethargy engulfed him, his legs buckling beneath him. He screamed as he hit the floor, pain roaring through him. Looking down, he saw the Texan's hadn't in fact missed. A bullet had torn through his stomach, his blood-stained entrails leaking out of the gaping wound. "So cold," he muttered. It all seemed so distant, as if he was watching this happen to someone else.

"Oh no." A shirtless Dawn knelt by him, tears rolling down her face. "Andrew."

"Sorry," he gasped, his own tears starting to fall as his body spasmed. "Tried to be a hero. Guess," he laughed, "I'm a better super-villain."

"Don't," Dawn wiped at her red eyes, "you dare. That was the bravest thing I ever saw."

"Really?" Andrew smiled proudly. Then he giggled as he noticed something. "My first boobies," he pointed at Dawn. "They're even nicer in the flesh." And then he died.

* * *

Dawn's strained laugh turned to a choked sob when he realised Andrew had died. After a few seconds holding the corpse, she became dimly aware of the surviving mercenary's pained wheezes.

Heart hardening, she picked up one of the dropped guns, and stood. Eyes filling with horror, the mercenary attempted to crawl away from her. "Mercy."

Dawn didn't need to see Andrew's corpse to know her answer. "No." Her ears rang with the gun's retort even as her tears continued to flow.

* * *

"What are you doing you dozy bugger?" Roger rejoiced at the upstart's confusion. "This is hardly the time-."

Covering the distance separating them at a run, he slammed his revolver's heavy butt into the younger man's forehead, knocking him to the ground. He aimed the weapon at his fellow countryman, savouring the helpless rage in Giles' eyes. He wished he had time to break the sod, but at least he'd get to finish him off.

"Go on Rog, give it to him!" Hearing a voice, he spun to his left, aiming his gun at Ethan Rayne; the smirking chaos mage leant against the wall by the door. "Hold on," the younger man raised his hands in surrender, eyes filling with alarm. "I'm just 'ere to watch that uptight prissy get his comeuppance, keep your eye on him!"

Roger instinctively turned back to Giles, promising himself to deal with Rayne afterwards. He looked down at his target.

And screamed at the cobra writhing around the wrist of his gun-arm. Shrieking in terror, he dropped the gun and leapt backwards. His eyes widened when the snake disappeared. A trick, he snarled at Ethan before stepping towards his dropped weapon.

He grunted when something heavy crashed into the back of his head, knocking him to his hands and knees. Seeing the gun beside him, he reached for it but Ethan kicked it away, tutting sarcastically. "Naughty, naughty."

Looking up, he saw the green-skinned demon friend of the vampire helping Rupert to his feet. "You'll all pay," he blustered.

"I doubt that," pain erupted in his side when Ethan kicked him in the guts. The chaos mage glanced towards the supposed Council head. "You alright, Rupes?"

The former Slayer's Watcher stared at Rayne. "How? Why?"

"Partially to see that look on your face," the renegade wizard chuckled before sobering. "Life wouldn't be the same without you to bedevil. Besides," Roger's hackles rose at the disdainful look Rayne shot him, "buggering up his plans was just the icing on the cake."

Rupert shook his head. "Same old Ethan," his nemesis took the gun from Ethan before glancing down at him, a terrifying look in his eyes. "your son was worth ten of you." All at once he knew what Giles intended. He opened his mouth to beg, saw the man's finger squeeze the trigger.

* * *

Ethan hid a wince when Ripper shot Roger in the head, exhibiting the cold-bloodedness that had in turn excited and terrified him. His heart fluttered at the grateful look the Watcher shot him. "Thank you, Lorne, Ethan."

"Think nothing of it old bean," he replied casually, his heart thundering. After all, what choice had he had? Given the chance of saving the life of the man he'd secretly loved for three decades?

* * *

"Andrew's dead?" Giles whispered. Seven Slayers, twelve Watchers, and fourteen Council troops had all died in the battle for the keep. And of course Wells.

He was shocked by his sense of loss. How much he'd miss the boy's cheerful self-delusion and oblivion. The way the youth ran their kitchens with surprising and tasty efficiency.

Looking around the devastated Council grounds, he could see the pain he felt reflected on the others' faces. "Giles," he looked towards an ashen faced Willow. "What are we going to do about the corpses and building damage?"

"I said not now!" he thundered, his frayed temper finally snapping. Seeing the witch flinch, he opened his mouth to apologise but was interrupted by the ringing of his mobile playing 'God Save The Queen' by the Sex Pistols. Mouthing 'sorry' to the red-haired woman, he pulled out his phone and glanced at the number on the display. His eyes widened in recognition. Turning the phone on, he placed it to his mouth and spoke. "Hello?"

* * *

"NOO!"

Seeing the head Watcher's legs buckle, Riley raced forward, grabbing hold of the Englishman as he fell. "It's alright, Giles!" he soothed over the others' shocked screams. But looking at the Watcher's broken face he doubted it would ever be alright again.


	21. Chapter 21

**FIC: Ravages Of Hell (21?)**

Buffy stared up at the white-furred behemoth glaring down at her, neck craning. The beast had to be twice her height, which okay she wasn't tall but that still meant the creature stood well over ten feet tall. The monster's mouth opened, fangs gleaming.

Buffy smiled nervously. "Nice," she struggled to decide what the monstrosity was, "monkey?"

The thing's roar shook the snow-covered ground. Buffy dropped into a crouch, allowing the thing's huge paw to hurtle harmlessly overhead. "Nice bear?" she tried again.

The creature's second punch caught her square on the forehead, knocking her onto her butt. Buffy scowled as she shook her head clear. "See, that's just not nice. I was going to tie a ribbon around your neck, maybe give you a to a zoo. But now," Buffy leapt to her feet and drew her sword, sunlight shining off the metal, "I'm going to have to kill you."

The massive furball bounded towards her. Buffy waited until the last second before leaping into the air and into a roundhouse kick that smashed into the creature's face, blood bursting out of its forehead. Buffy landed in a crouch before the stunned creature managed to steady itself. Not willing to give up her advantage, Buffy charged.

The monster roared when her sword flashed out, its point ripping across its chest. "Too slow!" Buffy taunted as she ducked under another paw swipe before leaping back. "You can do better than that!"

The fur covered beast charged her again, hands swinging wildly. At the last moment Buffy darted to the right, sword slashing up. The beast bellowed as her blade tore into its side just above its left hip, crimson gushing out.

The moment the behemoth was past her, Buffy spun around and slashed down, slicing its hamstring. The giant threw back its head and howled before dropping to its knees. "Now who's taller?" she asked as she decapitated her rival.

As soon as the headless corpse had hit the ground, Buffy hurried over to her boyfriend and her two junior Slayers standing over the other monster's corpse. "That was fun!" her beam dissipated at her boyfriend's paling face. "They weren't that tough!

"No, my lovely," the Italian playboy shook his head. "It is not the battle that shakes me, it is our opponents."

Buffy shrugged. "They weren't that tough," she repeated.

"No, no, no," the Immortal shook his head, "you don't understand." Buffy scowled, people said that to her a lot. "They were frost giants, beasts from the Norse legends. They prove we're where I said. In Migard."

"Sacre bleu!" Michelle exclaimed. " What sort of maniac sends us into a mythical land?"

"I've got a better question," the Immortal put in. "Who has the power to do it?"

Buffy grimaced as one really obvious answer occurred. Willow.

* * *

"It'll be night soon," Faith stared up at the setting sun, "and there's no way in hell I'm sleeping outside." Faith looked left and right, to the towering trees and lush green bushes surrounding them. It was revolting. "I am not an outdoors person."

"Jury's still out on if you're a person."

Faith chose to resist the growing urge to punch Rona's teeth out in favour of just ignoring the African-American's mutterings. "I saw some smoke on the horizon," she continued. "I figure there's a village somewhere in the distance, maybe an hour from here. We can get some food, booze, and maybe a bed for the night."

"And how are we supposed to pay for all that?" Kennedy sceptically demanded.

"I was figuring we could use the barter system," Faith grinned lewdly at her companions' confused expressions. "Swap lap dances for booze." Faith laughed at Kennedy's disgusted expression. "Check your backpacks, girls."

Faith smiled at the others' gasps as they checked their bags and found their wallets that had been filled with banknotes and credit cards had changed to pouches jangling with coins. "How?" Vi asked.

"Don't know," Faith shrugged.

"Maybe Willow added something to the transportation spell," Kennedy suggested, "to make sure we would have some local currency."

"Makes sense," Faith nodded. "Let's hustle, people." Faith smirked at Kennedy. "Say what's the male version of a tavern wench? Only I kinda got an itch."

"You can get a cream for that you know," Rona muttered. As usual Faith's glare bounced off the African-American.

In just under an hour they'd reached the hoped for village's perimeter. Faith gaped at the hamlet consisting mostly of one-storey buildings with wooden walls and smoke puffing out of holes in their straw roofs. People dressed in linen and animal skins stared as they strode down the village's main and only mud path. "Yeah," Faith concluded as she looked left and right, "we ain't in 2005 any more that's for damn sure."

"Gee, you think?" Kennedy scoffed as she headed towards one of the few stone and multi-levelled buildings, the sign above its wooden door indicating it was 'The Traveller's Restful Night'. Shoving the door open, the rich lesbian led them into a low-ceilinged, shadowy inn.

Conversation ceased and every eye turned to them upon their entry. The Traveller's Restful Night had already begun to fill up with patrons eager to satisfy their hunger and quench their thirst after a hard day's work. The setting evening sun's cast a band of light down the centre of the tavern's floor cutting through the smoke filled atmosphere. The wooden tables and chairs were all to the right of the counter and the empty stage. From the kitchen door situated behind the well-stocked bar came delicious smells that had many of the bar patrons casting hungry eyes in its direction.

After nodding, Faith sauntered over to the bar, floorboards creaking underfoot. "Yo, bar-keep!" Faith rapped her knuckles on the hardwood bar surface. "Four glasses of -," Faith's voice trailed off as she realised they probably didn't have JD in Camelot, "wine," she lamely decided.

The jowly bar-keep sniffed. "Women drinking in my establishment?" The man shook his head and pointed a finger towards the door. "Get out-."

The man gasped when she reached a hand across the counter, grabbed a hold of his meat-stained tunic, and lifted him off the ground. "I don't ask nicely twice," she warned as she slammed four coppers onto the counter. "Four cups of wine," she lowered and released the paling man, "now."

"Subtle, Faith," Rona muttered. "Real subtle."

Faith glanced over her shoulder and winked. "I don't do subtle. 'Sides I," she smirked when the inn-keep gingerly placed four bronze cups of wine down on the counter before scurrying away, "get results."

They found themselves a table at the far end of the inn, in a corner away from the inquisitive glances and leers from the male customers. Faith grimaced as she tasted the wine. She was no expert, but she knew when something tasted like crap. Faith saw her own distaste reflected in her companions' grimaces.

"Hey lassies, seems a sin for pretty little things like you to be on your own. Mind if we join you?"

"Yeah," Faith glanced to the right. The leader of their six propositioners was a short fat dude with an incredible case of body odour. "Like that' s gonna happen in this lifetime."

"Ah, lassie, I know how to warm your cold heart," the man placed a sweaty hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

"You might wanna get that damn paw off me," Faith warned with a glare. The snaggle-toothed in-bred just grinned. Without leaving her seat, Faith shot out a foot, smashing her heel into the man's over-stuffed stomach. The man grunted, greened, and fell to his knees. Faith stared challengingly at the man's five companions, shock written across their faces. "I think it's time for your guys to pick up ya bud and leave." The five men immediately grabbed their winded companion and dragged him away. Faith grinned as she turned back to her companions. "Told ya unsubtle works every time."

* * *

Angel groaned as he inspected the sixteen green-skinned figures encircling them. They were all thick-limbed creatures with yellow Mohicans, slanted grey eyes flanking a flat nose, and a mouth filled with vicious-looking teeth. Somehow he doubted they were Avon ladies.

Despite that unsettling conclusion, Angel raised his hands in supplication. "Relax everyone," he soothed, "let's not jump to any conclusions. They might be friendly." A careful smile on his face, Angel stepped towards the nearest. "We don't want any trouble."

The creature snarled and lunged towards him, sword thrusting at him, Angel swayed away from the attack. His hand flickered out to grab the creature's sword-arm at its thick wrist. "There's no need for any -." His eyes widened at the sight of another beast charging him from the left. "Ah, screw this!" Angel's foot smashed into the creature's slab-like chest. The blow lifted the monster off its feet, folded it up like a deck-chair, and flung it back half a dozen feet before crashing to the ground.

Angel twisted the other demon's wrist against the grain. A snap rang out as the bone broke. "Feel free to join in!" Angel roared as he repeatedly pounded his fist into the monster's face. After four such blows the thing fell to its knees, its face caved in.

Seeing another demon charging in, Angel leapt into the air. Once he was parallel with the ground, he wrapped his feet around the demon's head and twisted.

The air resonated to the sound of the demon's neck snapping. Angel landed upright. Just in time to be charged by another monster, its sword swinging wildly.

Angel dropped into a crouch, allowing the weapon to slash harmlessly overhead. Straightening before the attacker had time to reverse his swing, he stepped into the demon's space, drove his knee into its groin, and forehead into its face. The monster stumbled backwards, Angel used the momentary respite to draw his own sword and slash at his opponent.

The monster just managed to parry his attack. Sensing another demon behind him, he jumped into the air, tucking his knees into his chest.

The two demons collided with a thudding grunt. Before either had time to react, Angel's swords had first decapitated one and then the other. Hearing the sound of another demon charging from behind, Angel shot out a leg in a reverse leg sweep.

The creature grunted as it hit the ground. Angel spun around and thrust his blade down, impaling the creature's throat. Yellow viscera pumped out of the wound, Angel twisted his blade, opening the cut still further, before dragging it out.

Looking around, Angel was relieved to see his companions were finishing off the rest of their attackers. "I've had a thought, dad," Connor announced as the last demon thudded to the ground. "Just what do you know about Atlantis?"

"Just scattered fragments," Angel candidly admitted. "I've always thought of it as a myth like leprechauns. Why?"

Connor kicked the corpse nearest to him. "What if humans are slaves to these monsters? What if humans don't exist here at all?"

"Gee," Gwen muttered. "I just wonder where he gets that sunny disposition from?"

Angel ignored Gwen's comment to look into the distance. "There's only one way to find out."

"Captain Obvious strikes again," Gwen commented.

* * *

Buffy turned to the others. "The faster we get to the trident, the fast we get home." Buffy shivered. "Back to somewhere." She noticed the Immortal wasn't exactly paying attention. And the one thing she demanded from her boyfriends was attention. She stamped her foot in the snow. "What's up?"

Her boyfriend continued to look around. "There's something wro-," the Italian's voice trailed off. "Oh that's what it was." The Italian playboy stared over her shoulder.

Buffy twisted her neck to see where the European was looking. A score of coarse-featured, powerfully-built men were trudging through the snow towards them. All the warriors were dressed in animal skins and furs, but Buffy's gaze was fixed on the fearsome collection of battle-axes, swords, and spears.

Buffy glanced back at her fellow Slayers. "Stay calm," she counselled. "But if it comes to a fight, try not to kill anyone." She looked towards her boyfriend. "How are supposed to -."

"Greetings strangers!" boomed the biggest of the strangers, a thick-set red-head with gleaming emerald eyes and a blacksmith's forearms.

"Talk to them," Buffy finished before gaping. She exchanged shocked glances with the Immortal. He shrugged. Realising it must a side-effect of Willow's spell, she turned back to the interlopers.

"You must be mighty warriors indeed!" the red-head continued. "These frost giants attacked our village five nights ago, killed many of our people, and ran off our cattle. We expected lose many of our remaining warriors in our vengeance quest," the group's apparent leader shook his head. "But you kill them without loss." The flame-haired Viking threw back his head and laughed. "Come! We must feast and celebrate your victory!"

Buffy opened her mouth. Before she could politely refuse, the Immortal had spoken. "We'd be honoured to share a meal with such gallant heroes."

"Aye!" the towering mountain-man beamed. "Grand! I be Olaf!"

"And why are we doing this?" Buffy hissed as she unwillingly fell in beside her boyfriend. "I thought our mission was supposed to be urgent?"

"It is," the Immortal smiled. "But they might have some information about the trident."

"Oh," Buffy pouted. "You don't suppose they have a salad option?"

Her boyfriend chuckled. "Doubtful."

"Here, lass!"

"Thanks." Buffy stared with mounting horror at the half-cooked steak one of the Vikings had cheerfully dropped into her hands. "The phase 'a moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips' comes to mind."

"Buffy," Buffy glanced towards the Immortal. "Olaf says the trident is in Utgard, the outer world, at the entrance to Hel and under the guard of Garm." Buffy stared blankly at her boyfriend. "Garm's a giant wolf, the size of an elephant."

"Oh great." Buffy lost what little appetite she'd had.

* * *

"And another thing!" Kennedy jabbed an angry finger at the increasingly bemused-looking bar-owner. "Where is the maid service?"

"Jesus, Ken!" Faith's always short patience ran out. Hooking an arm around the complaining Slayer's waist, Faith dragged her away. "This ain't a five star exclusive hotel like the Paris Hilton ya know!" Faith smirked. "Although from what I've seen there ain't nothing exclusive about that girl if ya know what I mean."

Kennedy refused to be amused by her joke. "He over-charged us," the smaller girl complained, eyes shooting daggers at the flinching bar-keeper.

"Shit, Ken," Faith soothed her raging companion. "How in the hell would you know, we're not 'xactly experienced in this world are we? Come on."

"Shit," Faith cursed as they crossed the inn's threshold to find Vi and Rona facing off a mob of maybe thirty pitchfork-wielding peasants. "Ya know," she groused. "People are usually pleased to see me go, not wanting to make me stay."

"That I can believe," Rona muttered.

"You're an ungodly witch!" accused the mob's leader.

Faith arched an eyebrow as she recognised the gang-leader as the man she'd kicked the previous night. This was obviously about typically sensitive male pride. "And you're a sleaze, but ya don't see me waving a pitchfork in your face. 'Sides," Faith smirked. "You don't see any warts on my nose do ya?"

"Hey!" Ken predictably reacted. "That's an untrue stereotype!"

"Whatever." Faith growled as one of the men loosened an arrow at her. Snatching the projectile of out of the air, Faith flung it back at the would-be archer. The man screamed and fell as the arrow thudded into his thigh.

Noting that the entire mob had turned to the injured man, Faith stepped forward and snatched the pitchfork from the group's distracted leader, kicked his legs from under him, and held the weapon to his neck. Conscious that all the villagers had turned back to her, she spoke, her voice icy. "I was aiming for your bud's leg. If I'd wanted him dead he would be. Ya might wanna think about that before deciding if ya wanna continue this."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the man babbled.

"That ya are," Faith agreed before looking at her companions. "Let's blow this shithole, girls."

* * *

Angel looked nervously around, noting the rising sun. "What worry assails you, Angel?"

Angel glanced towards the questioner and then pointed up into the brightening sky. "The sun, Groo," he explained.

"Ah," his fellow champion nodded in understanding. "You worry it will effect you in the same way it does on earth."

"Yeah," he squared his shoulders. There was only one way to find out. Moving forward, he strode out of the cave, smiling slightly as he shielded his eyes from the sun's glare but didn't otherwise burst into flames.

"How?" Connor gasped.

"Wesley," Angel's stomach twisted as it always did at the utterance of his dead friend, "theorised it was because the rules that govern us not applying to different dimensions."

"Has anyone ever mentioned that you're really, really pale?" Gwen queried.

Angel's mood dipped still further. "Yeah," he nodded. "Gunn mentioned it." Anxious to change the subject he looked around. "Grab your stuff," he instructed. "The map says Atlantis lays that way," he pointed north, into a deep valley. "We'll keep to the shadows so that no-one sees us."

"Wow," Gwen's whisper carried to his ear, "it's really beautiful."

Angel found himself nodded in agreement as he stared over the hill's crest and to the metropolis beyond. The journey had taken all day and dusk was falling. But it had been well worth it.

The vast city sat on top of a hill, encircled by a deep canal at the bottom. A gleaming marble wall surrounded the city, battlements spaced every 150 feet, their spires impaling the sky. The only visible route over the fast-flowing canal was via a stone-walled bridge.

"We'll need to find sewer access," Angel decided.

"Sewers again?" groused Gwen.

"Preaching to the choir," Connor agreed.

Angel sighed long-sufferingly. "Being a champion is a thankless task, Angel," Groo empathised.

"You're not wrong, Groo. Not wrong at all."


	22. Chapter 22

**FIC: Ravages Of Hell (22?)**

Buffy sniffed as she trudged dispiritedly through the snow. Olaf and his men had given all of them animal furs as gifts for killing the frost giants. The furs insulated her against the biting cold, but also stunk to high heaven.

Not exactly what she'd dreamed of when she'd aspired to wearing high fashion.

They continued walking for several hours, walking in a single trail. The land they travelled through became increasingly bleak, the trees more gnarled, and the wildlife increasingly scarce. Buffy almost bumped in Michelle when the French Slayer suddenly halted. "What's the roaring I can hear?" asked the French girl.

"Roar-," Buffy saw the Immortal's face pale. Her boyfriend's eyes shot all around before coming to rest on a north-easterly spot. "A storm's coming," he warned. "Everyone join hands." The Italian playboy looked over his shoulder, "we'll head for that cave. Hurry and don't let go!"

Buffy's breath came in desperate pants as she charged across the winter wildness, the thundering in her ears growing ever louder, snow flying up with every step. Her heart almost stopped when she risked a glance back to see a screeching white blanket charging towards them. If that got to them before they reached cover they'd be utterly blind and completely lost, helpless to avoid a terrible, frozen death. "Faster!" she screamed.

They made the cave with scant seconds to spare. Legs rubbery from exhaustion and blood pounding, she slumped against the cave's wall. After a minute the Immortal spoke. Buffy had to strain to hear the Italian's cultured tones over the storm's high-pitched scream. "We'll stay here until the storm passes," her boyfriend paused. "At least we have Olaf's supplies to tide us over."

Buffy's nose wrinkled at the thought of the viking's animal steaks. "Oh happy joy."

* * *

Faith stopped as they exited a forest it had taken them several hours to walk through. It had been filled with towering trees, gloriously green shrubs, and blooming flowers of a dozen differing colours. The only sound she'd heard during their trek through the natural paradise was birds' chirping and bushes rustling as small animals skipped through the undergrowth. Even the air tasted somehow cleaner, perhaps a by-product of no modern-day pollution.

Yeah, definitely revolting.

"Hey! What's that?"

Faith turned in the direction that Rona was pointing. Her mouth dropped opened at the sight that greeted her. A horseman covered from head to foot in gleaming armour and brandishing a lance was riding towards them, the nostrils of his towering, ebony steed flaring with every pace.

An actual, freakin' knight of the round table.

"Faith LeHane, speechless," Kennedy muttered in her ear. "Wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself."

"Bite me," Faith warned before stepping forward and dazzling the warrior with her best smile. Hey, sex appeal always worked. "Yo, can you give us some directions to Camelot, seeing as you're like," she shrugged, unable to believe what she was saying, "from there?"

"Merlin has warned us of your approach," the knight slowed his horse. "I did not expect four wenches to be the threat, but the village you attacked have warned me of what godless harlots you are!"

"Harlot?" Faith raised an eyebrow even as she glanced questionably at Kennedy.

Kennedy's eyes gleamed with relish. "Slut, ho, skank."

"Yeah, yeah," Faith nodded her eyes fixed on the armoured figure ahead of her, "I get it." Sometimes Kennedy could be suspiciously eager to help. "Look we don't-."

"For Arthur and Christendom!" the knight roared before lowering his lance and riding right at them.

"Oh please." Faith faked a yawn before readying herself. The instant the knight was in range, she leapt into the air. The knight looked up, she could only imagine his look under his visor, as she cleared his horse, and drew level with his head. His shield started to come up, but it was way too late for that, Faith's heel smashed into the front of his helmet with enough force to send pain flaring up her leg. Faith's attack also had the rather more satisfying effect of denting the front of the knight's helmet, lifting him off his horse, and dropping him onto his back with an almighty clank. Landing, Faith turned to the others and smirked. "Knights of the Round Table, they ain't all that."

"Now what are we gonna do?" Rona demanded.

Faith looked at the others. "It's always moan, moan, moan with you. You worry too much," she scolded. Then she looked back at the downed knight. "Say, any of you girls bring a tin-opener?"

* * *

"Does this sewer end?"

"Does your moaning?" Angel counted to ten before replying to Gwen's query in a louder voice, the sound echoing around the knee-deep in gunk, oval-shaped tunnel. "We're pretty much at the centre of Atlantis underground network, if it's still night we'll climb out at the next access tunnel."

"Grea-, what do you mean as long as it's still dark? If you think I'm staying in here until tomorrow night, I've two words for you! No. Chance."

Angel sighed. Hot, but with a voice that could make ears bleed. He pitied the man who married her. "Only one way to find out," he replied, his tone held carefully neutral. "Let's keep moving."

For the next half mile or so, the silence was thankfully only broken by the sound of them sloshing their way through the tunnel's disgusting sewage. Then he stopped and looked up, eyes searching the darkness. "You feel that, Connor?"

"Fresh air?" his son wisely ignored their female companion's chortle. "Yeah, I feel it. The exit's a way away though, how are we going to-."

"Have you got that rope we took off the demons?" Connor wordlessly passed it over, a quizzical look on his face. "Thanks."

Leaping into the air, he glided up the 'poop chute', the air gradually growing fresher the nearer he got to the top. Once there he grabbed a rung with one hand and shoved the heavy brass manhole cover off with the other before climbing out.

Looking around, he found himself in a deserted street in a clearly residential area. Angel's eyes widened as he inspected the shadows, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling at what he saw. The city was clearly of a pre-industrial age, but that was about all he could safely say, the scholar in him noticed architecture that pre-dated but influenced all the great early civilisations – Egyptian, Assyrian, Greek, Roman.

Shaking his head, he turned his attention to the rope that Connor had given him. Realising that no one piece would be long enough, he tied three together and lowered them down the hole, praying that the thin yellow-green rope was stronger than it looked.

After a second he felt a tug on the rope's other end. After an unneeded breath, he braced himself and began pulling, working the rope like a strongman pulling a truck, hand over arm, legs and back working.

* * *

Buffy's eyes snapped open, around her she could sense her fellow Slayers stirring, but her boyfriend still soundly asleep. Whatever had woken her was supernatural in origin. Grabbing her sword, she rose. "Wake him and then follow me!" she ordered before starting in the direction her instincts led her, adrenalin from as yet unknown danger pumping through her veins.

As she hurried around the bend of a snow-drift she stopped, eyes widening in horror and sword almost dropping from her hands.

Just ahead, through a copse of half a dozen or so conifers, there stood a nine-foot tall, scaled thing with a crocodile's head and the sort of muscles that only a female Russian shot putter could hope for, its six tree-trunk thick arms swinging left and right to knock over like skittles the axe-wielding dwarves surrounding it. Hearing the sound of the others behind her, she looked over her shoulder. The Immortal let out a particularly foul Italian curse. "What's wrong?" she demanded.

"That is Grendel!" the Italian play-boy's face was pale. "Beowulf slayed him in legend!"

"Yeah?" Buffy raised her broadsword, the blade gleaming in the cold winter sun. "Beowulf isn't here, but Buffy is!" She looked towards her fellow Slayers. "One take the left, the other right, I'll take point. Let's kick ass!"

The three Slayers sprinted into the melee. Buffy's eyes widened as she realised instantly that through some miracle of physiology, the demon was able to seamlessly control each set of arms separately. Buffy gulped as she also realised that each set of the arms ended differently, the top pair were normal if large hands, the middle pair resembled a lobster's claw, and the lower pair looked like something off that Hellyboy character Xander liked. Ducking under a claw-swipe from the middle left arm while at the same time side-stepping a clublike punch at her from the lower right arm, Buffy swung her sword at the demon's chest.

"Not good!" she jumped backwards as the impact of the blow reverberated through her, but without leaving even a mark on the demon's seemingly armour-plated chest. Deciding a change in tactics was sorely needed, she let out a shout. "Girls! His legs, take him out at the hamstrings!" Her fellow slayers nodded in understanding before ducking under claw-swipes, gliding behind the powerful monster, and from their flanking positions swung at the beast's legs.

"AHHHHHHHH!" Grendel's pained bellow shook the snow from the trees they'd just run through as the blades sliced into his hamstrings, a yellowy substance gushing out. Its balance wrecked, the demon fell onto its knees. Buffy darted forward, kicking away an attempt at a claw-swipe and swung at the demon's neck.

Her sword cut deep into the monster's neck, more of the yellow gunk flying out. The demon stared angrily at her, eyes still blazing before finally slumping forward in the snow, body thrashing for a few seconds before finally lying still.

All at once her companions were surrounded by the dwarves they'd saved, enthusiastically cheering. Buffy smiled as she looked at the little people, it was good to be appreciated.

The dwarves themselves were short, none of them stood above four feet tall, but powerfully built, about as wide across the shoulders and chest as they were tall. Every single one of them had a flowing beard of black, brown, or grey colour, and hooked noses, and were dressed in woollen jerkins and breeches. "Ah lass!" the apparent dwarf beamed up at her, the emerald orbs set deep in his lined face sparkling. "You're a grand warrior, never seen the like before! Maybe you'd happen like to stay the night with us, celebrate your victory!"

"Buffy," the Immortal hissed, a worried look on his face. "Maybe we should be moving on, the quicker we get our mission com-."

"Nonsense!" Buffy waved a hand at her boy-friend's protestations. "It would be rude to leave." Besides, she liked being around people who had to look up at her for a change.

Several hours later, after much partying, Buffy and the others hit the sack, exhausted after hours of eating, drinking, and exchanging tales. Buffy groaned as she felt a hand tugging at her shoulder. "The dwarves!"

Buffy stared up blearily at her boy-friend, annoyed that he'd interrupted her dream about an Italian fashion house's half-price sale. "What about them?" she muttered.

Her boy-friend's anguished face stared down at her. "They've stolen our weapons!"

* * *

Kay groaned as he awoke, head still ringing from his humiliating fall, and face bruised from the kick he'd received. His eyes widened as he saw his captors, three beautiful white girls with strange accents and modes of speech, doubtless Irish or some other foreign nation, and a gorgeous girl of Saracen blood like Sir Palemedes.

"Yo," the midnight-tressed lovely who'd knocked him from his horse spoke. "He's awake. Always wondered what a knight wore under his armour," the young woman's nose wrinkled. "Do you ever wash?"

"Faith," reproved the red-haired one. "That's not the way to get his help." The girl looked towards him, "We're sorry about the misunderstanding. But the villagers attacked us first. And you did charge Faith. We really need to get to Camelot and -."

"Lead you godless harlots to Camelot?" he laughed. "Never!"

"Look," the other raven-haired beauty shook her head, impatience in her eyes. "There's four of us. One of you. Maths so simple, even Faith can do it-."

"I'm so gonna kick your ass for that, Ken," muttered the group's leader.

"You take us to Camelot," the other brunette continued. "And how many knights are there?"

"Forty," he answered before he could stop himself.

"Plus the archers, and footmen," the brunette continued. "You'll totally have us out-numbered if we're the bad guys."

Sir. Kay stared at the brunette and her companions for a long time before smiling broadly. They were powerful warriors, but against his king's righteous might? "I will take you."

"You know, that argument really worked for me," commented the group's leader. "Especially the part about us being horribly out-numbered."

"No plan's perfect," commented the Saracen.

* * *

Gwen stared down in disgust at her sewage soaked clothes. "We really need to get some clean clothes," the curvy brunette complained.

Angel chuckled before looking around the darkened streets. "We're not exactly in a shopping mall," he pointed out. "And you want to try having mine or Connor's noses."

"These streets are indeed quiet," Groo commented, a worried look on his face. "Even for the time of night, you would expect some activity."

"Yeah," Angel nodded. "What do you think is causing this?"

Groo looked around the crowded streets again before commenting. "I would suggest some sort of plague, a war, an outbreak of crime, or," the Pylean hesitated. "Or in my home dimension, the priests had a curfew where only a few favoured people were allowed out at night-time."

Angel grimaced. None of the choices had him exactly jumping through loops. "What are we going to do, dad?" Connor asked.

"Find somewhere to hide until morning," he replied. "There must be a warehouse or inn we can break into."

They stalked through the streets, stopping occasionally at the sound of approaching people, the nearing groups sounding uncomfortably like the ordered march of military patrols. "Damn," Angel cursed as they turned into yet another dead-end alley. Atlantis might be the fabled civilisation of a bygone age, but to him, it was starting to resemble a damn rabbit-warren. "Try the other w-," Angel turned to the alley entrance, "oh hell."

In the alleyway's mouth there stood a group of eight thickly-muscled, green-skinned demons with deadly-looking fangs in their mouths, a single stony grey eye, long floppy ears, and upwardly-curving horns sticking out of their foreheads. The three spikes sprouting out of their knuckles only added to their menace. Their leader smiled. "Humans breaking the curfew, it's been a while since this happened. You're in big trouble."

"Would it make a difference if I told you we're not exactly from round here?" Angel asked without much hope.

"Seize them."

"Oh," Angel smiled thinly. "Guess not."


	23. Chapter 23

**The Ravages Of Hell (23?)**

"But we helped them!" Buffy protested as she climbed out from under her furs. "Why would they do that?"

"Because," Buffy saw the Immortal's lips move soundlessly as he counted to ten, a coping strategy that she'd seen both Giles and Angel use, "they're renowned as habitual thieves. Which you would have known if you'd either listened to me when I tried to warn you or Giles when he was trying to teach you about Norse mythology."

"Don't try and blame this on me!" Buffy flared.

"You're the pig-headed one who wouldn't listen!" the Immortal replied.

"Why is everything alwa-."

"They went this way!" Michelle interrupted.

"Well done," the Immortal nodded. "Let's catch them up and get our weapons back."

"Hey, don't walk away from me!" Buffy snapped as her boyfriend started off with the other two Slayers. "This isn't over!"

"Oh no," the Immortal sniffed. "Far be it for you to admit you were in the wrong."

A gloomy, glare-laden period followed as they trudged silently through the snow. Buffy's eyes shot daggers into the Italian playboy's back. How dare he question her? She saved the world! What right had he to question her? Suddenly Michelle spoke up. "There's a cave just ahead with a fire inside, the tracks lead up to it, if we surround it and wait for them to come out we could catch them unawares."

"An excellent idea," the Immortal commented. Buffy's eyes narrowed, now he thought he could take over her mission? "Everyone, move into position."

&&&

"Wow."

"That is-."

"Yeah."

"Holy shit!" Faith quickly wiped away a tear so none of the others could see the effect the marvel before them had on her. Tears were not cool for her image.

But then no-body would have held it against her. The city before them was encircled by a seemingly spotless white wall that gleamed in the mid-day sun. Its walls were filled with loopholes for the city's archers, and there was a rounded tower, their turrets pointing upwards, impaling the clear sky above, set every three hundred paces. Towards the back of the city there was a hill upon which stood a great castle constructed out of indomitable granite blocks, another wall around it. From the citadel's highest spire hung a huge banner of a knight galloping across a field, and from its other many other towers there flapped different banners that Faith guessed belonged to the multitude of knights and nobles who served Britain's greatest ever hero.

"That's Camelot," she finally breathed.

"Unless there's another really huge castle just around the next corner."

Faith chose to ignore Kennedy's sarcasm. "And we've got to ride into there. Into a massive army."

"Yep," Kennedy agreed.

"Tell your girl-friend I'm gonna kick her ass when I see her," Faith grunted.

"Ha!" Kennedy snorted. "Like you could!"

"True," she grudgingly nodded. "I'll have to make do with kicking yours then."

"Girl-friends?" Faith groaned as Kay started off again. Even tied and flung over the back of his horse he hadn't stopped with the threats and curses. If they hadn't needed him for the directions, Faith would have gagged him two days back. "You truly are godless harlots if you engage in such unnatural acts."

"Hey," Faith turned towards the knight. "Shut the hell up."

"Come on," Rona started forward. Faith shook her head and grinned, girl was the only person she knew more impatient than her.

The walk down the winding path leading to the city and its huge, shadow-casting walls was over far too quickly. Soon they were stood before an entrance barred with a gleaming, black-iron portcullis that Faith knew that not even a Slayer could break through or lift. Looking up, she saw a trio of vats sat on the walled walkway above the entrance, vats that could be filled with any number of disturbing ingredients designed to discourage unwanted visitors – boiling water or oil for just two. "Yo," she turned towards Kay. "You're up." The knight stayed stubbornly silent. Faith sighed. "Ya wanna get free or not?"

"Ahoy the guardhouse!" the knight roared. "'Tis Sir Kay! I bring the four intruders searched for by our king!"

"Funny," Faith heard and sniggered at Vi's mutter, "I thought we brought him. Must be male ego."

After a second the portcullis started to creak up, pulled up by a rope pulley system. Faith looked at the others before starting through the portal and into an oval-shaped tunnel lit by brush-torches set into the brick walls. The moment they stepped out into the sunlight they were surrounded by twenty of so halberd-wielding footmen dressed in chain-mail. "Take me to your leader." Faith hid her own tension behind a smirk as the others turned to her. "What? I always wanted to say that."

&&&

Angel spun out of the way of the first demon to charge him. His eyes widened when the demon's fist slammed into the wall behind, chipping brick but having no apparent effect on the demon. "Oh goody," he muttered as he leapt backwards, kicking off the wall before leaping-first into his opponent's vault-sized chest, "this is just going to be heaps of fun."

He winced as he thudded against his opponent then grunted when the creature grabbed him in a bone-splintering bear hug. "Shit!" he smashed his forehead into the demon's face. His opponent growled but didn't release the hold. Cursing, he butted the beast again. Again it growled but failed to release his grip. Shaking his head clear, he tried again.

This time the demon did loosen his grip. The moment Angel's feet hit the ground, he took a step back and kicked up, crashing his foot against the side of the monster's head. The demon stumbled backwards. Angel leapt into the air, cannoning a dropkick into the monster's face, knocking it into the wall behind with brick-cracking force.

Even as the demon fell to the ground another grabbed him by the shoulder. Angel responded with a side kick to the demon's stomach before twisting to face it, barely managing to glide under the creature's haymaker at his face in the process. The demon swung a follow-up left that Angel blocked on his shoulder, the pain blazing through his shoulder making him vamp out.

The monster recoiled in shock. "Seems like you're not the only monster around here!" Angel laughed before snatching hold of the demon's head and twisting, the air resonating to the snap of its neck.

"Ahh!" Angel staggered as an incredibly hard blow smashed into his back between his shoulderblades. Kicking out behind, he connected heel-first with somebody's face but at the same time another demon kicked him in his grounded leg, knocking him to his knees. He managed to block the first punch thrown, and even elbow his attacker in the stomach, but then he was battered by a barrage of blows, each one crashing into him until finally he slumped to the ground.

&&&

"I don't see why we can't go in?" Buffy said through gritted teeth as she peered at the cave they were hiding some eighty paces from. She shivered, god it was so cold.

"Because, as I've explained for the umpteenth time, they'll see us coming, we get them as they're coming out, they won't be prepared," her boyfriend snapped in much the same manner.

"Fine!" she snapped back before lapsing into a grumpy silence.

Finally the dwarves stumbled out of the camp, their clumsy gait suggesting they'd been drinking. The moment they were level with her position at the opening to the small valley leading up to the cave, Buffy bounded to her feet. "Get them!"

Blood pounding, she charged down the slight incline. She hit the first dwarf full on, shoulder to shoulder, the force of the collision sending the dwarf crashing into a near-by tree and sliding to the ground. A second dwarf's mouth opened in shock a half-second before she filled it with her foot. A third charged her, axe lifted over his head, but she easily grabbed the axe shaft and reversed the swing, crashing the handle into the dwarf, dropping him like a stone. Sensing a fourth attempting to sneak up behind her, she shot out a heel, catching the dwarf on the tip of his chin, catapulting him into the air.

Looking around, she saw that the other Slayers had dealt with the rest of the dwarves and were already rummaging through the dwarves' belongings, seeking their weapons. "That'll teach em!" she exulted.

"I doubt it," the Immortal sniffed. "They're compulsive thieves. Now we've taken this little detour can we please continue?"

&&&

"What is this threat that worries Merlin so?" Arthur asked the unfortunately empty council room, his knights only just returning from travelling his lands, searching without success for the threat. And yet, if Merlin said it existed, it must. Arthur looked up from his brooding as one of his page boys crashed through the ornately-carved oaken double doors, eyes wide with excitement. "Sir Kay has returned with four fair maidens he claims are the threat!"

"Kay?" Arthur rose from his chair, hand reaching for his sword. "Have him and these wenches brought her-."

"Who ya calling wenches?" Arthur looked towards the entrance, eyes widening at the hubbub there. A quartet of devilishly attractive women clad in men's clothes of some foreign land or other had walked in, surrounded by a considerable number of his footmen. "Hey," the group's evident leader stepped forward, an amused yet slightly awed gleam in her luminous eyes, "this is the Round Table room. Gotta say, love what ya did with the place."

Arthur's eyes widened still further as he realised that these WOMEN who were strangers to boot were armed while standing in the middle of his council room. "Take their weapons!"

"Not a good idea." He gasped as one of the men stepped forward only to be put down by a firm kick to the crotch, his companion who lunged for the brunette a second later going down to an elbow to the head. "Look," the brown-haired beauty ducked a third's halberd-led lunge before snatching his weapon off him, "we don't wanna fight, we want your help!"

"Help to bring down King Arthur's reign!" shouted Kay.

"Jeez," the brunette shook her head. "Beat a guy's ass once and he holds a grudge forever."

"To be fair," commented the Saracen amongst the quartet's number, "it was less than a week ago."

"Oh great," the other brunette groaned as Arthur's gallant knights charged in, "well done, Faith. Ever thought of working for the UN on the middle east crisis?"

"I'm too busy practicing being bad-ass hot to waste my time, Ken," the beauty replied before spinning around to face him as he attempted to approach the surrounded quartet. "Listen Arth," he blinked at the shortening of your name, "I respect you and all, but you try anything and I will shove your sword right up your English Channel."

"Good gracious, you have quite a way with words."

"Ah," Arthur smiled as his mage entered the chaotic council room. Surely he would be able to make some sense out of the chaos. "Merlin-."

"It's not possible!" The feared wizard stared at each of the four girls in turn. "Slayers, but how!"

"Hoo-fucking-ray," the taller of the two brunettes spoke up, her strange accent barely intelligible, "that's what we've been trying to tell you dumbasses since we met Kay," the curvy beauty shot Arthur's friend a disgusted look, "we're the good guys."

&&&

"Ah," Angel groaned as he opened his eyes. Head thudding, he rolled up into a sat position and groaned as he looked around his dank surroundings. Another cell, from Liam's drunken nights that invariably ended in the watchman's dungeons to Holtz's vengeance-filled cells, to now, it seemed he never managed to escape prisons.

"You're awake!"

"Just about," he grunted at his son's cheerful shout. "But don't bellow, I feel like I've been on a three day drunk, and trust me I know how they feel." He grimaced. "Not to ask a stupid question but where are we?"

"According to those people," Connor pointed to a trio sat towards the back of the cell, in its shadows, "Atlantis is run by the minority demon population, they're resistance fighters brought here like us. Brought here to fight in their arena."

"Their ar-," Angel groaned as he heard the sound of booted footsteps. Many pairs of booted footsteps. "Oh this day couldn't get any better," he groused as he rose. Seeing the others, he shook his head. "I'll deal with this. And if anything happens, I'll be back for you all."

By the time he reached the prison's steel bars, a dozen of the demons had come to the gates. "Hey," he smiled at the guards, "did you not get our reservation for the Hilton?"

"You come with us!" bellowed the lead demon. "You are to fight in the arena!"

"Ah," Angel sighed. "Obviously not."


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: **Yes, I know the explanation Faith gives is incomplete, but she doesn't know what Giles and the others do yet.

**FIC: Ravages Of Hell (24/?)**

"This isn't good." Angel blinked as he was forced out of a dark, narrow tunnel and into well-lit, open-roofed octagon, and the area above its high walls filled with bleachers containing a multitude of differing demons, their hisses, grunts, and snarls adding up to a deafening clamour. Just to give the arena that last touch, a variety of blood-stained weapons lay on its sandy ground.

And as he stepped into the arena, a grille screeching down behind him, a figure came out of the tunnel opposite, some sixty paces away. Angel groaned as he recognised the creature. "And it just keeps getting better and better."

The monster stood maybe seven and a half feet tall with a pair of gleaming horns sprouting out of its head adding a much as another foot to its height. Its eyes gleamed red under a snout nose, and its black-furred body contained a set of muscles that uncomfortably reminded Angel of the Beast. "And wasn't that a fun trip for all involved?"

The monster started towards him, hooves leaving sandy footprints in its wake. Angel waited until the Minotaur was almost upon him before diving into a forward roll to the monster's left, snatching up a broadsword as he rolled past the mammoth beast. Leaping up behind the creature, he thrust the blade deep into the area where he hoped the creature's heart was.

"Ahhhhhhh!" Even as the beast threw out its arms and let out an arena shaking bellow, Angel cartwheeled his way over to a double-bladed axe, scooped the weapon up, stepped around and in front of the monster, and back-handed slashed at its neck.

The Minotaur's head disappeared in a shower of blood, head exploding off its broad shoulders as it toppled forward. For a second the arena was deathly silent, stunned into stillness by Angel's easy kill.

And then he was moving, axe in one hand and sword in the other, easily clearing the 20 feet wall to land in the first row of the bleachers. Axe swinging one way and the sword the other, Angel hewed a viscera-soaked path through the shocked monsters en-route to his escape. As he reached the top of the arena, Angel looked back down, towards where he guessed the cells lay. "I'll be back, Connor. Count on it," he promised before leaping off.

* * *

"I made a mistake!" Buffy snapped at the Immortal, anything to end his glowers. "Are you happy now?"

"Not really," her boyfriend stared left and right. "Your apology would only mean something if I thought you meant it."

"Why you-. Whoa!" Buffy fell onto her butt as the snow before them erupted, a huge beast flying out from the ground. Buffy stared up into the sky, eyes widening at the monstrosity hovering above.

The dragon, because there was no way on earth it was anything else, was about a hundred and fifty feet in length from the tip of its bone-spurred tail to its teeth-filled mouth. Every scale covering its green body seemed the same thickness of tank armour, and the eyes either side of its smoke-blowing snout glowed a malignant red. Its long chicken-like legs ended in horrific looking claws, easily capable of picking an elephant up in one of them. Its massive wings though, they were the things of nightmares, a shade of black your eyes seemed unable to focus on without chilling you to the bone, and somehow greying the blue sky for as far as the eyes could see.

"W…what i…is that?" Buffy whispered between chattering teeth.

"Nidhogg," everyone looked towards the Immortal. "A dragon who eats the roots of the World Tree, Yggdrasill."

"So, not a good guy?" Everyone turned to Michelle. Buffy shook her head in disapproval; even she knew the answer to that one. "Sorry I asked. Here's a better question, what do we do?"

"Run!" Leaping to her feet, Buffy grabbed the Immortal's hand and yanked him to his feet.

* * *

"Now we've got that sorted out," Faith nimbly leapt over the table and sat down, swinging her boots up onto the table, "I'll take a load off." Faith raised an eyebrow at the king's apoplectic expression and the horrified looks on the halberdiers and knights' faces. "What?"

"My dear," Merlin, who looked just like she'd imagined him – sort of like Gandalf on steroids, straight back, flowing grey hair and waist-long beard, black eyes that looked like they could bore deep into your soul and pluck out every secret, chuckled. "You're sat in the king's seat."

"Ah," Faith paled as she followed Merlin's gaze to the glaring Arthur. She shifted uncomfortably in the seat. "All these seats look the same," she defended. "Maybe you guys should look into nameplates."

"Your feet are resting on it," Merlin's eyes gleamed with amusement.

"SHIT!" Leaping to her feet, she looked down at the scuffed bronze plaque and then at the king. "Uh, sorry." She glared at Kennedy head-butting the table and the other two Slayers rolling around the stone-paved floor, tears of laughter pouring down their faces. It wasn't that funny.

The bearded king's mouth opened, lips thinning to a scowl. "Peace, sire," the magician interrupted. "The child made an honest mistake." Faith's mouth opened to protest being called a child, if anyone was woman-sized she was, then closed it again. Right now she'd take just about any route out of having to fight her secret childhood hero. The mage's eyes turned to sudden black stone, the council room's temperature plummeting. "However I would be very interested in your story, I sense you have travelled long and far-."

"Oh boy," Faith muttered under her breath, "are you on the money."

"And I am more than a little interested to discover how your time has four Slayers?" the magician finished.

"See," Faith spoke up when she realised her companions were looking to her for answers. "In our time there were two Slayers, the second line having being activated when the first drowned but brought back to life by a friend. But then we were battling the First and his army of Turok-Han, and two Slayers wasn't nearly enough, so the premier witch of our time activated all the potentials, creating hundreds of Slayers, and then we kicked the First's ass."

"The First?" Merlin's eyes widened. "You fought the First Evil and won." The sorcerer looked at each of them in turn. "Most impressive. But casting a spell that would create so many Slayers," the mage shook his head, "that could only cause a dimensional imbalance that could very well rip the world apart. Perhaps it would have been best if the First won! Such foolishness!"

"Hey!" Kennedy's eyes flared at the criticism of her girl-friend. "It wasn't Will-."

"A little diplomacy Ken," Faith briefly enjoyed the younger Slayer's slack-jawed look before continuing. "Yeah, maybe so, but we didn't know that at the time. But now, Satan," she raised an eyebrow when several of the men recoiled, "grow a pair. He's not like Voldemart, ya can't summons him by just mentioning the name."

"You've read Harry Potter?" Vi snorted.

Faith eyeballed the red-head. "Is that gonna be a problem?" she demanded before looking at the others. "Anyhow, because of the Slayer mass calling, all these demons are sorta leaking into our dimension, and the only way to close all the holes is by -."

"The Three Tridents Of Tariq," Kennedy supplied at a questioning look.

"Yeah," Faith nodded her thanks. "One of which is-."

"Under this very castle," Merlin looked towards Kennedy, eyes narrowing. "This witch you so vehemently defended, her name wouldn't be Willow Rosenberg by any chance?"

"Yeah," Kennedy looked towards her and then back at the mage, "it would."

"It seems we need to do some research-," Merlin smiled at her muttered curse. "Most unladylike language," the sorcerer waggled a spindly finger at her, "it seems the passing of countless generations has not lessened the Slayer line's antipathy to study."

"Got that right," Faith agreed.

The magician chuckled before looking towards the increasingly confused-looking king. "By your leave, my king?"

After a second, Arthur nodded. "I will expect a full explanation later."

"But of course my lord," Merlin nodded. "Girls, follow me."

Faith shook her head as the mage started out of the council room. "At least he didn't yell 'heel'."

* * *

Angel smiled as he peered down on a three man patrol as it ducked into the darkened alley ahead of him. He'd spent the entire day and the early part of the next night evading patrols, but now his patience was just about run out, and these three had isolated themselves.

Unlucky for them.

Creeping to the edge of the roof he was crouched on, he waited until the oblivious trio passed by under him before leaping to the ground behind the two demons bringing up the rear. He was attacking before he'd even hit the ground, his axe taking the head of the right demon, his sword decapitating the left.

The third demon, one of the same breed who'd captured him the previous night, charged him. Not wanting to kill his opponent just yet, Angel dropped his axe and slammed a right into the demon's jaw while at the same time swinging his sword behind the demon, slicing his hamstring in half.

A look of bewildered pain on its ugly face, the demon stumbled backwards, right leg flopping horribly. Dropping his other weapon, Angel ran shoulder-first into the beast, knocking it against the wall, another right and it was down on the ground, him knelt on top of it, hands around its head.

"Now," he shot the trapped demon his best Angelus smile, the one Angelus used just before he created his 'art', "you're a smart looking boy. How about you tell me where I can find the resistance and I'll kill you quickly?"

"We're behind you."

Angel glanced over his shoulder and looked to his left and right to see a trio of raggedly-dressed men brandishing bows and arrows in both ends of the street. "Why is it people are always pointing weapons at me?" he twisted the demon's neck, the rebels paling at the sound of cracking bone. "Am I not a friendly lad?"

* * *

Buffy's blood roared as she led her companions on a wild, helter-skelter charge through the desolate wilderness, the dragon relentlessly following. At one point they had burst out of a copse for it to be turned to ashes a half-second later, the dragon's breath more than enough to singe them.

Spying a gully our of the corner of her eye, Buffy veered sharply to her right. "Down here!" Soon she was leading the others down the slope, nimbly skipping down the steep incline.

"Ahhhh!"

Buffy's eyes widened as she looked over her shoulder to see that the Immortal, not having their natural agility had fallen, and was even now rolling haphazardly down, his fall turning the snow-covered incline into an avalanche. "Oh sh-."

And then the snow hit her.

* * *

"And this quartet of wenches?" she hissed from the shadows of one of the castle's deepest dungeons, a most uncomfortable place for a meeting, but also most discreet. "Is it true, they are Slayers?"

"Merlin himself has confirmed it," replied her spy.

Morgana's lip curled up in disdain. Damn that well-meaning fool and his unassailable power. If he just worked with her, the entire nation could be theirs. But no, he was too busy prattling on about honour, justice, and courage. Well, if she couldn't have the kingdom, no-one could. She'd see it destroyed.

But that was for another day. "What was this great mission that brings these wenches here?" She listened intently as the traitor filled her in, eyes widening at one revelation after the next. "The Three Tridents Of Tariq?" she hissed. Only the foulest of tomes, many of which she had in her hidden collection, made mention of the Tridents, but even those snippets were enough to both send chills down her spine and make her salivate with thought of their dread power. After a second she shook her head. If Merlin wanted this harlot to have them for doing good, then she knew the bringer of light would want otherwise. "Whoever this Slayer is, have her slain."

"My lady," the spy bowed her head. "As you just said, she is a Slayer. And one of just four, perhaps other-worldly methods would be better suited."

It was on the tip of her tongue to rip her agent's head off for his impudence, but in the end she nodded. What he said made a certain sense. "Very well, I will think on it."


	25. Chapter 25

**FIC: Ravages Of Hell (25/?)**

"Nothing electrical, nothing!" Gwen cursed as she kicked impotently at on the thick steel bars that made up the entrance to their cell. "And," she spun around to glare at her companions, "why aren't you trying to escape?"

Groo appeared unperturbed by her anger. "We have already tried and failed to bend the bars, they appear to be magically reinforced." Gwen snorted, that was typical man, always ready with an excuse. "Even if we could escape there are dozens of those demons who captured us. Any escape attempt would be valiant, but ultimately unsuccessful."

"We can't just sit here waiting for them to take us one by one!" she exclaimed.

"We're not, we're waiting for my father," Connor put in from his seat in the shadows.

Gwen shook her head. "Connor, what if he doesn't come back? We've heard no word of what happened and it's been two nights."

Gwen instantly regretted her words at the crestfallen look that crossed Connor's face. Even as she thought of some way to take her words back, Groo spoke, his tone as confident and untroubled as always. "Angel is a true champion, he has fought many battles and always won. He will return."

"Start a fan club why don't you?" Gwen shook her head before turning back to the cell's bars. "I just hope he gets here soon."

Behind her, Groo sighed. "It would seem the women of each of the dimensions I visit are cursed with impatience."

"MEN!!!!!"

* * *

The room the magician led them to was long and narrow with a table in the centre and depressingly full books cases lining the walls, the musky smell that she'd always secretly associated with Sunnydale High's library filling her nostrils. At their entry, a tiny brown-haired girl around B's size dressed in a woollen tunic and breeches leapt up from her seat at the table, black eyes gleaming excitedly. "Master!" Faith raised her eyebrows at that. Better not let G hear that, guy was way too big-headed as it was. "These strangely-garbed women," brown-eyes shot them a curious look, "I feel them-."

"Keep your hands to yourself," she murmured, "that's Ken's bag not mine."

"They are Slayers as am I?" the girl finished.

"Most perceptive," Merlin nodded, a proud look on his face.

The brown-eyed girl's eyes widened. "But how-."

"Explanations later, Bronwyn," the magician reproved. "We are a mission of some urgency." Faith gawked when an entire shelf of books levitated in mid-air, hovered for a second and then floated down to the table. "These books will be of use to you." The magician paused. "I'll leave you now, there are certain things I must attend to."

Faith sighed. "Books, I hate books."

The minutes passed slowly as they started to research, Faith's brow furrowing as she struggled with the old-fashioned English. "You are their leader, correct?"

Faith glanced up, the kid Slayer was stood by her, an excited look on her face. "Yeah."

"You must be a mighty warrior to lead others of our Calling into battle," the centuries-past Slayer enthused. "And to have reached such an advanced age." Faith raised an eyebrow, twenty-three was old now? "Perhaps you could teach me-."

"Look kid," she didn't bother with the younger girl's name, "this isn't a holiday or nothing, we're here on serious business."

"Very well," the younger Slayer flushed at her dismissive tone, "I will go and see Master Merlin, perhaps he has some task for me to complete."

Faith nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

"That was a little harsh wasn't it?"

Faith glanced up from her book to see Kennedy staring down disapprovingly. "That's rich coming from Miss Bitchy."

"Maybe I am," the younger Slayer appeared unfazed by her snap. "But that's not the point, for some reason, the dumb kid idolises you, and you blew her off like she's nothing."

"I was doing her a favour," Faith looked down, cheeks flaming.

"Oh yeah," Kennedy sniffed. "it's always a favour to have your idol stamp on your feelings."

"Look," Faith spoke through gritted teeth, "girl needs to learn that I'm not fit to be anyone's idol, murderer remember?"

"Faith," Kennedy's mouth dropped open. "If you were just a murderer, Giles wouldn't have put you in charge of this miss-."

"Look", she interrupted. "Work to do, less chat, more reading."

* * *

"Gah." Buffy spat something soft out of her mouth. Body aching and head ringing, she blinked her eyes open. Panic struck as she registered the whiteness surrounding her, her hammering heart only easing when she remembered the avalanche.

"What about the others?" she whispered as another wave of panic hit her. Calming herself, she started to dig herself up and out of the snow. She couldn't be alone, how was she supposed to survive in this world she knew next to nothing about?

Finally she broke through to the surface. Looking up, she noted that some hours had passed, the sun having long since given way to a star filled sky. Shivering slightly with the cold, she began to dig haphazardly, having no real idea as to where the others were.

Suddenly a hand burst out of the snow about twenty paces to her left. Heart lifting, Buffy rushed over and began digging its owner out. "Michelle!" she half-sobbed as she recognised the normally so-stylish French Slayer, the girl left bedraggled by the snow. Grabbing the willowy Frenchwoman's wrists, she pulled her fellow Slayer out before grabbing her in a near hysterical hug.

Pulling away from the other girl, cheeks flushed by the whipping wind, she looked around. "The others must be around here," she declared, face creasing in determination, "we'll split up and dig up every inch if we have to!"

An hour later and the four of them were re-united around a crackling fire, its heat slowly re-animating parts that seemed to have frozen stiff. Finally the Immortal spoke, face still blue. "Tomorrow we head into Hel."

* * *

Cloaked in the near-by inn's shadows, Angel stared at the stadium looming up in front of him, a feeling of grim foreboding resting heavy on his dead heart. It had been two whole days since his escape, far longer than he'd envisaged before coming back for Connor and the others, but the delay had been unavoidable. Angel had immediately found himself caught up in a counter-productive struggle between the four main resistance groups which had eventually ended when he'd lost his temper, and rounded up the groups' leaders and 'discussed' their abdications and ceding of power to him. Now he had an army.

He just hoped it was enough.

The ground beneath his feet shuddered, almost knocking the three natives stood with him from their feet, but leaving him unfazed. Angel looked into the previously dark sky, smiling grimly at the fires now illuminating it. The six-pronged attack he'd organised striking at key points through-out Atlantis had begun, now he had to finish it.

He glanced towards his companions. "Get your teams, you know what to do." Without waiting to see if they obeyed, he stared towards the building's entrance, an imposing steel barred gate with barbed wire on top of their spiked heads and guarded by two demons from the species that had originally caught them.

"Human!" One of the demons stepped towards him, eyes troubled as it glanced past him and to the chaos in the city. "Return to your home immediately. Order will soon be restored!"

"Technically," Angel reached inside his jacket and pulled out the broadsword he'd used to such effect two nights ago, "not a human." The demon barely had time to register his sword before his blade was flashing through his neck, decapitating him in a single, effortless motion.

Sensing the demon's partner charging him from behind, Angel reversed his swing to take his other rival's head off. Before the second demon had hit the ground, Angel was striding towards the gates. Looking up, he calculated the leap over the gates was perhaps thirty feet and the gap between the top of the gate and the ceiling was perhaps

Angel sighed. He just knew one way or another this way going to hurt.

Seconds later he was crashing to the ground inside the gate, body cut in half a dozen places. "Let's see him complain," Angel groaned as he stood, "next time I forget his birthday." After a last a baleful glance at the gate, noting the remains of his coat stuck to the gate spikes and flapping in the wind, Angel hurried in the direction he remembered the holding cells being, down a path lined by pillars carved into demonic figures.

Hearing hoarse breathing behind a pillar ahead, Angel kept up the same unhurried pace as he approached his would-be ambusher. At the last second he pulled back, leaving the short but thickly-muscled four-armed demon who leapt at him clutching at thin air for the half second before Angel's sword cleaved his head in. "Ach," he shook his head, "these boyos be amateurs. Have they never seen a vampire before?"

As he reached the entrance to the holding cells, a rickety wooden guardhouse he stopped. "Ah, this might be a little more tricky."

The two demons who guarded the entrance were tall, powerfully built creatures covered entirely in scales and with curved horns sticking out of the sides of their heads. After grunting the pair charged him, ground shaking under him. Angel stepped back, as if to retreat.

And then leapt forward, sword flashing up at the left beast.

And the creature's fist snapped up, colliding with the blade with enough force to snap the blade in two. "Oh," Angel groaned as the right demon engulfed the back of his head in a huge palm and flung him into the air, "this is going to hurt!"

He hit the guardhouse wall and flew threw it, crashing to the brick ground beyond. Rolling up, he saw the two demons rushing him. Tearing a ceiling manacle free, he stepped out of the wrecked guardhouse, and swung his makeshift weapon at the nearest of the two demons.

The manacle's cuff smashed into the demon's left horn, ripping it off is head. The demon threw back its head and wailed en-route to crashing to its knees, its life-blood pumping out on the cobbles. The second demon slowed, dull eyes filling with what Angel guessed was shock.

Before the demon had chance to recover Angel was by its side, broken sword thrusting up and into its thigh. The creature let out a roar before stumbling forward, doubling up as it did so.

The moment its head was in range, Angel grabbed a horn and yanked. The creature screeched as the horn snapped loose, its flailing hand catching Angel with rib-cracking force. Hitting the ground in a heap, Angel was forced to roll to one side to avoid the defeated demon falling on him.

"Oh yeah," Angel mumbled as he clambered to his feet. "If he ever complains about his Christmas presents again, this rescue is gonna come up."

* * *

Faith yawned as she entered the quarters that she'd being assigned. It was strange how a day spent researching made her more tired than a night spent partying or a rough fight.

Faith chuckled. Maybe it was her brain was waaaay less developed than the rest of her body. Shaking her head, she kicked off her cowboy boots, unsheathed her sword and threw it onto her four-postered bed, and began unbuttoning her denim shirt.

"Whaa-," the hairs on the back of her neck prickled as her Slayer sense kicked. Faith looked around warily. The candle-lit room seemed empty, but Faith had learnt to trust her instincts. Looking towards her sword, she stepped towards the bed.

Suddenly a tall skull-faced figure with pointy ears, dead black eyes, and a rope-muscled physique appeared between her and the bed. The monster punched at her with a three-knuckled spiked fist, Faith glided away from the attack, raven hair bouncing with the movement. "Shit!" She screamed as pain blazed through her scalp as her hair was grabbed from behind and she was flung to the ground. Faith winced as she hit the paving-stones knees-first. Ignoring the pain, she rolled onto her side and kicked out at the second of her attackers, the creature the twin to the first.

Her blow crashed into the demon's thigh, knocking it back a step. But even as she attacked, a third creature appeared, punching down to cut open her forehead. Blood blurring her vision, Faith gasped open as another of the demons grabbed her hair and yanked her to her feet.

"Big mistake," she mumbled. The moment she was upright, Faith swung her legs up, wrapped them around the neck of the demon in front of her and twisted. As a continuance of her attack, she back-fisted the monster to her right in the mouth.

Blood erupted from the demon to her right's mouth at the same time the air rang to the sound of the other monster's neck snapping. Taking advantage of her shocked captor's loosening grip, she back-flipped into the air, wrapped her legs around her rival's neck and with a flip of her thighs, flung it headfirst to the ground.

The creature's head cracked like an egg-shell on the unforgiving ground even as Faith landed in a crouch. And caught a fist to her left cheek, knocking her down to one knee. Faith blocked a kick at her face on her forearm before leaping up, hooking her arms around the beast's trim waist and tossing it to the ground. Before the beast had chance to retaliate, she'd wrapped her hands around its lean face and twisted, snapping its neck like kindling.

Exhausted, she rolled off the beast, sweat lathering her and breath coming in desperate pants. She laughed raggedly as she raised a hand to her swelling cheek, her palm coming away sticky with blood. "Thank fuck for Slayer heal-, oh crap," she paled as the hairs on her neck prickled again.

Looking up, she saw another six of the monsters materialising in a circle around her, cold intent in their dead eyes. Faith swallowed, no weapons, wounded, and out-numbered six to one. Oh boy, was she in the shit. Faith started to rise only to catch a left to the jaw. Ignoring the pain, she tried to rise again, blocking a foot on her elbow as she reached one knee. "Jesus!" Faith grunted as a foot smashed into her crotch at the same side other boots smashed into her ribs on both side. Body screaming, she slumped to the ground and crawled into a foetal ball to best shield herself from the ceaseless barrage of punches, kicks, and stamps reigning down on her.

Suddenly the door exploded inwards and a resounding voice rang out. "Be gone!" Her six tormenters threw back their heads and screamed before disappearing into the darkness leaving behind the corpses of their companions. Faith looked up dazedly, her vision partially obscured both by a concussion and the blood dripping into her eyes, to see Merlin staring down at her in concern. "I am sorry I was not here sooner, a shielding spell had been placed on this room, it was how I sensed the attack, but also slowed down my aid." The magician glanced at the trio of corpses. "Three Shadow-Stalkers on your own, even the mightiest of Arthur's knights would struggle to defeat one especially when unarmed. Truly you are a legendary warrior."

"Yeah, thanks," Faith spat blood onto the paving stones under her.

"Are you alright?" asked the magician.

"I'll be fine in the morning," Faith replied as she struggled to her feet and turned towards her bed. Damn, just a minute ago it was half a dozen steps away, now it seemed like miles. Faith limped to the bed. "I just need to pass out now."

* * *

"So this is Hel?" Buffy asked through chattering teeth. "You know, I thought it would be hotter."

They were under a bleak, stone grey sky and on a path made entirely of bones, she was pretty sure they were human bones but obviously hadn't looked close enough to be sure, flanked by walls of flames and deafened by the screams of those apparently trapped inside the fires. Yet despite the blazing inferno it was bone-chillingly cold.

"Hel was described in Snorri Sturlson's Prose Edda as a place thronged with the shivering and shadowy spectres of those who have died ingloriously of disease or in old age. Hel is also home to dishonourable people who have broken oaths. Hel is cold and low in the overall order of the universe." The Immortal paused. "And I wouldn't look up too closely. Hel was said to be a hall with a roof woven from the spines of serpents which drip poison down onto those who wade in the rivers of blood below."

"Sacre Bleu," Michelle muttered. Buffy knew how she felt.

"Ignore the screams," the Italian playboy winced as a particularly high-pitched screech rang out. "There's no way to help the condemned. And if you step off the path your soul's lost immediately. The only way out of the hall and to our target will be across Gjoll, a freezing river with knives flowing in it."

"So not Niagara Falls then?" Buffy muttered.

"Fortunately there's a bridge across it," the Immortal continued.

"Good, because today was looking like a very bad one for a paddle," she muttered before raising her voice. "So follow the yellow brick road, right?"

It was feet-blistering hours until they reached their destination. "Oh my god," Buffy gasped.

There was no bridge on earth that came close. It was so wide that an army could march across it abreast, a thousand men at once, and so long she couldn't see the other end. A huge arch roofed it and it was lined every twenty paces by ebony statues of death's many faces.

After a gulp she stepped on it and leapt off when a crashing bang sounded. "What was that!"

"I'm sorry," the Immortal had a faintly amused look. "I forget to mention that although the dead can walk on it without sound, it rings out like a thousand step on it for every live person."

"Forgot huh?" Buffy glared at her boyfriend.

"Well maybe not forgot."


	26. Chapter 26

**FIC: Ravages Of Hell (26/?)**

"You're sure this is the right way?"

Angel hid a smile at Gwen's question as he led his companions, savouring the sunlight breaking through the forest's tall trees to warm his face. "I'm sure," he chuckled, "Atlantis' new leaders were very anxious I didn't come back."

"Just what did you do to them?" Connor asked.

Angel's amusement fled. "I put the fear of Angelus into them."

"Oh," Connor fell silent.

For his son's safety he could put up with another stain on his soul. Besides he hadn't actually done anything, just showed them his strength, vampiric face, and coldly delivered a few threats. That had been enough to convince them. "We're here," he pointed ahead, towards a mossy hill perhaps a quarter of a mile away. "Half-way up the hill there's a cave entrance. The natives call it 'Cavern Of Lost Warriors'. There's reputed to be a great treasure inside but all who have tried to take it have never returned."

"Comforting," Gwen muttered.

"A rare challenge!" Groo enthused.

Angel smiled grimly as he continued on his way. His opinion was somewhat closer to Gwen's but the job had to be done.

Soon the four of them broke out of the wood and into the small, tall-grassed clearing between the forest and the hill. Now they were nearer, Angel took an opportunity to inspect the hill. There was nothing especially foreboding about it, despite its blood-stained reputation. Just a grassy hill with a muddy track snaking up to a narrow opening half-way up.

"Remember," Angel warned as they reached the entrance, "we have no idea what's in there. So be careful."

"That's my dad," Connor muttered. "Always with the good cheer."

Angel ignored his son's comments to plunge into the narrow passage, grateful of the vampire eyesight that allowed him to see in the darkness. The path wound and twisted, dipped up and down, until Angel was sure that they'd long since left the hill, but although their journey was tension-filled, they encountered no trouble.

Until they turned a corner to find the path had spilled out into a clearing dominated by a snarling, squid-like creature. The grey-skinned monster's body was dominated by a single golden eye and a long, wide mouth filled with dozens of curved teeth, the sort that once secured in a limb would never let go. Its five pairs of eight foot long, wiry tentacles all ended in different weapons – hammers, claws, pinchers, spikes, and one pair of huge sausage-fingered hands.

"Okay," Angel groaned. "This isn't good."

* * *

"Fair Faith! I wonder if I might have a word!"

'Fair Faith' rolled her eyes before turning to face the one calling for her attention. The excitement of meeting the Knights of the Round Table had soon paled. Well after the sixth proposal of marriage and third knight offering to be her champion. And if she caught Lancelot looking at her ass again, well Guinevere was gonna be wicked disappointed when he tried it on with her again.

Her face smoothed as she recognised the approaching figure as Merlin. He at least had a modicum of common sense. Something that was in even shorter supply here in males than it was in her time\world. "Any news?"

The bearded mage nodded. "Aye lass," he replied, eyes troubled. "It would appear that in years long past this castle was the home of a powerful dark arts mage. Your friend witch appears to be a woman of considerable wit and nerve, for it was in this time she hid the trident. But be warned, a creature of considerable power defends it!"

"One thing I don't get," Faith asked. "Is if Red hid these tridents why there's these evil guardians to prevent us getting them?"

"The placing of such potent artefacts through the time stream and dimensions would be a great undertaking even for a magician as powerful as your friend," Merlin slowly replied. "Perhaps she further wished to assure their safety and assigned them protectors but was unable to spare the power to allow these beasts to recognise those who had justly come for the Tridents."

"Yeah," Faith nodded as she walked around the courtyard, the spacious lawn they walked filled with sparring knights.. Her eyes rolled at the number of squires gawking at her. "Makes sense."

"And you have been justly chosen," Merlin stopped in front of her, a suddenly frighteningly forbidding expression on his lined face. "I understand you had words with Bronwyn. You falsely believe you are not the sort of person my Slayer should be listening to?"

Faith didn't bother to ask how he'd found all this out. Hell, he was Merlin, he could have plucked it from her head. "I killed a man, murdered him," Faith growled, "and I laughed as he died. That sound like the sort of gal your Slayer should be hangin' with?"

"And would you do the same today?" Merlin demanded.

"Of course not!" Faith hotly replied.

"Would you in fact give your life without a second thought to save his?" After a second she silently nodded. "I have lived centuries Faith, and in that time I have come to understand you humans," her head snapped up at that. Merlin wasn't human? What was he? "You claim to have committed some terrible crimes," Merlin shrugged. "Perhaps you have. But the girl before me could not do such a thing. The girl before me is strong-willed, loyal, and brave. The girl before me, although she would deny it onto death is compassionate and kind, the only flaws I see are a slowness to trust, a lack of patience, and an inability to believe in herself." Faith's mouth opened. "Silence. Bronwyn could do far worse than ask for one who has truly lived such as you for advice. Now," the wizard looked around, "perhaps you should round up your companions. I will find Bronwyn. You have a mission to complete."

* * *

"You're telling me that's Garm?" Buffy whispered.

"Indeed," the Immortal muttered his reply.

"Oh boy," she whispered. "Do you think he's been to obedience school?"

The wolf sat before the mouth of a shadowy cavern with a glowing light that had to be the trident within it. But this wolf was no normal wolf, its eyes glowed red and its shaggy grey fur covered a thickly muscled body the size of a house. Worse still was its mouth filled with knife-like teeth that glinted in what little light there was.

"I doubt it," the Immortal dryly replied.

"Okay," Buffy pulled her head back in behind the slight hill heading towards the beast and their goal. "In that case we'll try a flanking action," Buffy looked towards the other two Slayers, "you two come in from the left. We'll take the right. On three. One, two, three."

Buffy's blood began to pound with the familiar excitement of battle the moment she reached 'three'. Leaping to her feet, she spun around to face the monster, drew her sword, and charged, dust kicking up as she ran.

Garm leapt up from his slumber, his gaping maw opening in a ground-shaking roar. His right leg flicked out at her, Buffy barely managed to duck under its huge paw before thrusting her blade up at the trunk-like limb.

Her strike sliced home, ripping a furrow in the creature's lower thigh. Viscera spurted out, drenching her from head to foot. The creature howled in pain before bringing its leg inside to smash a paw into her lower back.

"Ahhh!" Buffy's own world exploded in pain as Garm's claws ripped through her clothes and raked her back, ripping her open. The force of the blow flung her to the ground, only Slayer instinct allowing her to hit it in a forward roll and spring back to her feet directly under the hulking beast's body.

Ignoring the blood dripping down her back, Buffy dropped into a squat before leaping into the air, thighs powering her up the seven feet that separated her from the creature's under-belly. The monster shuddered as her blade thrust into its stomach.

Buffy gasped as she crashed to the ground behind the hulking wolf. An idea flickered into her head. Leaping back to her feet, she bounded into the air, sword swinging at the beast's rear hamstring.

"Awwwww!" The shaggy-furred beast threw back its head and roared, eyes wide with shock as her blade ripped into the thick muscle, blood fountaining out. Garm slumped onto its haunches, Buffy took the opportunity to leap onto the creature's back and raced to its head, sword swinging to behead it.

The decapitated wolf crashed to the ground. A grin on her face, Buffy jumped off the monster and headed towards the trident just in from the cavern's mouth.

"Buffy! Michelle's dead!"

* * *

Angel drew his sword and bounded towards the squid. A clawed tentacle snapped out, catching Angel in the face. The force of the blow lifted him from his feet and flung him into the wall. Ignoring the jarring impact and the blood dripping down his face, Angel sprang up and bounded back into the attack.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Connor crumple under a hammer-blow to the head. Angel started towards his son as a spiked tentacle swung down at him. Angel smirked as Connor side-rolled away from the attack. "That's my boy."

Turning his attention back to the battle, he charged towards the squid, ducking beneath a hammer-swing at his head while at the same time leaping over a pinchered tentacle. Upon landing, he sliced at a handed tentacle. "Oh crap!" he barely had time to register the blade bouncing off the rubbery-like tentacle before being grabbed around his ankle and flung to the ground, dust billowing up. The monster immediately slapped his sword out of his hand and began dragging him towards its mouth.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his companions charging to his rescue. "Stay back." He endured the back-bumping drag across the ground. The moment he was in range, he reached into his jacket, pulled out a throwing dirk, uttered a quick prayer, and flung the knife deep into its golden eye. The monster roared in fury and then exploded like a water balloon hitting the ground, showering him with blood.

"How did you know that would work?" Connor asked.

"I didn't," Angel tried and failed to clean the viscera off his body, "but I figured when it took time to knock my sword out of my hand, our weapons must be a threat to it. Therefore it had to have a weakness. That was my favourite jacket, I hate it when this happens," Angel complained as he rose. He smiled as he saw the trident standing behind where the squid had been. "Ach," he smirked. "I can always get new clothes." He paused for a second. "Although obviously not in this time period. Me and fur, ugh."

* * *

"Are you okay to lead us? Merlin said you took a heck of a bea-."

"I'm fine," Faith lied, waving off Kennedy's concern as she peered into the torch-lit passageway that apparently led down into the bowels of the hill Camelot was built on and to their goal. In truth she felt like crap, not only had many of her bruises and cuts not healed, taking a beating like that or the one the Beast had so lovingly handed out shook her up emotionally, reminding her that despite her powers she was still mortal.

But she had a job to do.

After a nervous lick of the lips, she started towards the arched entrance. The path was floored by square tiles very comfortingly painted with what seemed to be demonic faces and lit by brush torches set in the grey stone wall every thirty paces. "Nice place to visit," Faith murmured as she continued on her way, "but I wouldn't like to live here."

"I'm not even keen on visiting," Kennedy replied.

The path led remorselessly down. Kinda like her mood. "Damn," she muttered. "What's this place greatest threat? Bore-." She gasped as she felt a tile move underfoot. "Back!" she yelled even as she ignored her own command and leapt forward, hitting the ground on her shoulder and rolling up to look behind her.

A six foot gap had opened up behind her, and peering down, she could see a pit filled with rusted but still dangerous looking spears embedded in the ground and pointed menacingly upwards. Glancing across, she was relieved to see all four of her companions had managed to leap back in time. "Come on over guys," she gestured.

The moment the last of the Slayers leapt over, Faith nodded. "Let's rock 'n' roll." Reminding herself to pay attention in the future, she continued on.

The path suddenly veered upwards, Faith raised an eyebrow before starting up the path. Faith stopped, puzzled as she felt a wind brushing against her face, looking up, she saw a huge hole in the ceiling. "What the -."

"The rumbling," Bronwyn screamed, "there's a rock coming down that hole."

"Good call, kid!" Faith yelled. "Run for it!" Faith rushed down the suddenly descending again path. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the others following, and a car-sized boulder rolling with increasing speed after them. Seeing a hairpin bend ahead, Faith dived around it, her friends crashing down on top of her just as the rock slammed into the unforgiving stone wall with shuddering impact and smashing into a dozen smaller but still large pieces. "Man," Faith groaned as she pulled herself to her feet, new bruises joining the others, "this place is a blast."

A few minutes later she drew level with a torch, heard a hiss and instinctively flung herself to the ground, flames spitting across the tunnel to scorch the wall opposite. Faith shuddered as she looked up; if she hadn't moved, her head would have been burnt clean off her shoulders. "This is a regular house of fun."

Rising she continued on, her companions doggedly following. "Can you hear that?" Rona whispered.

"Hear what?" Faith asked even as she picked up a wheezing hiss around the next corner. "Oh yeah. Hate to think what that is, draw your weapons girls," she muttered, "time to go to work."

Faith charged around the corner, only to stumble at the massive, apparently ceiling-less chamber and the green-scaled dragon flapping in the air. "Oh crap!" Faith swallowed as the creature dive-bombed at them. "Scatter!" She dived to the ground just seconds before a burst of flame scorched the ground where they'd been stood. After a quick glance to reassure herself the others were okay, Faith let out a yell. "Keep its attention!" Noting the chamber wall's long, intricately-woven tapestries, Faith decided to do something really, really stupid. Even dumber than dating Kenny Stringer in the 9th grade.

The moment she reached the wall, Faith grabbed a hold of the tapestries and began half-climb, half-run up it until she was something like fifty feet in the air. She grinned as she saw Bronwyn leading the dragon in her direction, weaving in and out of its flame bursts, kid had a brain and a set on her. The moment the dragon was in range, Faith kicked off the wall and did a quadruple back-somersault onto its neck, hair snapping in the cold air.

"Jesus!" Faith yelled as the dragon's head snapped around to face her, cold eyes impaling her with their primeval ferocity. "Just how many times did mom drop me on my fucking head anyhow? I must be fucking nuts!"

The dragon's head darted towards her, Faith leaned away from the attack, the creature's sulphurous breath almost causing to her pass out. "Hey lover?" Faith snapped. "Breath mints, look into them!" Raising her blade high above her head, Faith swung it down into the monster's long neck. Blood vomited out of the wound, showering her. The dragon's head snapped back, mouth opening in a pained scream. Faith took the opportunity to yank her weapon out of the demon's now copper-coated neck and thrust it deep into the bottom of the monster's mouth. "Think you're a bad ass?" she taunted as she twisted the sword. "You ain't shit."

"Gaaaaaa!" the dragon's scream pounded in her ears. The creature dropped like a stone, crashing to the ground. Instantly her companions were on it, hacking the winged lizard to pieces, its blood soon slicking the ground.

"Good work," Faith acknowledged as she climbed off the dying lizard before heading towards the trident. "Hey kid," Faith winked at Bronwyn as she wrapped her hand around the trident, "you don't need any advice from me, you do fine on your own."

* * *

Heart thumping, Buffy swung around. She shook her head in pained disbelief at the sight of Michelle's broken body, the formerly elegant Slayer twisted and broken, her blood staining the ground. "Nooooo," she whispered, head still shaking and the first of many tears rolling down her cheeks. After a second, she started towards her companions crouched around the corpse.

"A worthy warrior indeed. Othin will be pleased."

Buffy spun around at the husky voice behind her. A pony-tailed blonde wearing a twin-horned helm and steel-scaled, knee-length hauberk, carrying a round steel shield and spear was there, sat upon a horse-sized, shaggy-haired wolf. "Who are you?" Buffy demanded

"S….she's a Valkyrie," the Immortal gasped. Buffy glanced over her shoulder for clarification. "The Valkyrie are dsir, minor female deities who serve Odin. Their purpose is to choose the most heroic warriors and to take them to Valhalla so that Odin has an army of heroes to fight at his side at Ragnarok."

Buffy only understood half of what her boy-friend had said, but she knew one thing. This Valkyrie wasn't taking Michelle. Planting her feet, she put herself securely into the Valkyrie's path and raised her sword. "Listen missy," she grated, "you are not taking my friend."

The Valkyrie smiled. "Your loyalty is touching, but foolish. You cannot stop Sigrdrifa."

"Yeah?" Buffy grasped her sword ever tighter. "Let's see about this."

"Very well." The Valkyrie's smile widened. The Valkyrie stepped towards her. Buffy swung her sword at the Valkyrie's neck, the blade slid through the creature and came out the other side, like slicing through a ghost. "Just as we have no claim over the living," Sigrdrifa stopped by Michelle's corpse and placed a hand over her, "so they have no claim over us." Buffy gasped as the two were enveloped in a golden light and disappeared.

For a long time she stared at where the two had been. Then she heard the Immortal's whisper in her ear. "She's gone my dear, we need to go home."

After a second she nodded and reached for the trident.

* * *

Heath Private Airport, Sussex, 2 days later

Faith beamed as she saw a tarpaulin-covered figure rushing across the airfield and towards the tiny office they'd commandeered upon their arrival. "Angel's here!"

"Great," Kennedy grunted. "Be still my beating heart."

Faith ignored her friend's unenthusiastic reply to leap to her feet and hurry down the narrow stairwell leading to the front door and flung it open. "Hey Fang!"

"Faith!" The vampire grinned briefly before reverting to his customary deadpan expression. "Any sign of Buffy, yet?"

Faith smirked as she shook her head. "Ya know B. Likes to keep people waiting. Bring me back any holiday snaps? 'Specially any of you in speedos?"

Faith yawned as she glanced at her watch. Four hours had passed since Angel's team's arrival and seven since her group had arrived in the early morning. Now it was getting towards mid-afternoon and still no Buffy.

Suddenly Angel's head snapped up, somehow looking through the dirty brown ceiling, a smile slowly spreading across his face. "A plane's coming in for landing, it's Buffy."

"Cool." Faith nodded, knowing that no other aircraft could be landing at the airfield as the airfield was owned and exclusively used by the Council. "Then we get back to the Council and work out what the hell to do with these Tridents." She just wondered who of her friends were still alive.

Five minutes later and a canary-yellow six-seater came in for landing. The door flew open and Buffy's team began to disembark. And then a shot rang out and Buffy's head disappeared in a bloody mist.


	27. Chapter 27

**FIC: Ravages Of Hell (27/?)**

"Buffy's dead," Faith looked around the hushed room as she gave her report. "It was a sniper, Angel caught him," Faith paused, not even wanting to think about the mess her enraged idol had made of the sharpshooter, "just a hired gun, nothing supernatural about him."

"Then we've lost." It was a pale-faced Giles who broke the silence that followed her report.

"W…we've got the tridents," a teary-eyed Willow weakly protested. "There must be something -."

"Don't you understand?" Even she jumped at Giles' sudden roar. "It was ordained that only the three champions – Buffy, Faith, and Angel could wield the tridents. Without them we're doomed!"

* * *

Satan supped at his wine, watching the scene unfolding before him with barely uncontrollable glee. "Game, set, and match to me, I think." He'd particularly enjoy the vampire, the only escapee ever from his realm, and the raven-haired Slayer, such delicious guilt. 

"I would beg to differ."

Eyes widening, he spun to face the figure, a grey-bearded man with kindly eyes and dressed in an executive suit that completely failed to conceal his chubby body. "You'd dare to come here!" he hissed, outrage burning through every bone as he rose from his seat. "Why I'll-."

"Oh please," his most unwelcome guest chuckled. "Not on my worst day and your best, why don't you sit back down?"

Legs rubbery from shock, he obeyed. "Ha," he forced a laugh. "You've lost your battle. I will take your most blessed, prized possession and tear through it, make it my new home."

"Will you indeed?" his guest's eyes hardened to something more unyielding than steel. "Perhaps I will not allow it."

"The balance -."

"I created the universe's balance," the intruder responded, his tone as equable. "I can change it."

"My legions-."

"Your legions are numerous, but so are mine, vastly out-numbering yours. I will fight you for earth."

Satan forced another laugh. "In such a battle, earth will be devastated."

"Yes," his guest nodded, "and so will your army and your power over them. The question you have to ask yourself what you prize more – your vengeance or your power."

"You threw me out!" he raged.

"I've no time for your childish tantrums," the interloper calmly responded. "Do you wish to hear my proposal?" Too angry to speak, Satan simply nodded. "The prophecy calls for three champions. I will call a substitute out of those in," his guest nodded towards the scene Satan had previously been watching with such relish, "that room. Then we will let events play out as they will. My champions against whatever forces you call to bear."

Satan licked his lips, mulling over his guest's words. Finally he shook his head. "That is unacceptable," he paused a second before continuing, "but perhaps if you chose a replacement from Summers' original three companions."

For the briefest second, his former ruler looked uncertain. Then he nodded. "Very well, but first I feel I should ask for advice." Satan opened his mouth to protest when his guest clicked his fingers and a portal of light appeared in the wall opposite. Satan clamped his mouth shut. What was the use?

In seconds, a statuesque brunette clad in a knee-length, figure-hugging hauberk had walked through the portal and into his domain, stopping just inside the entrance. The brunette sniffed and shook her head. "Um, I know you're just the lord of the Underworld and haven't got much to work with, but have you ever heard of interior decorating? A lick of paint on the walls, a few rugs on the floor, you could do something!"

Satan gritted his teeth as his rage grew. "Who is she?"

The bearded man smiled beatifically. "My newest warrior angel, the first in a generation. Miss Cordelia Chase."

Satan's dark mood got even blacker. "I've heard of her."

The admittedly beautiful brunette smirked. "Of course you have."

"Cordelia," the bearded man looked like he was having the time of his very long life, "I wish you to pick a champion out of Miss. Rosenberg, Mr. Giles, and Mr. Harris."

"Um," Cordelia looked briefly thoughtful and then broke out into a brilliant smile, "that's easy. Doofus might not have Giles' smarts or Rosenberg's mojo, but he's got the heart. Xander all the way."

The bearded man stared at the warrior angel. "You're sure?" The brunette beauty nodded. "Then," his unwelcome guest pointed towards the scene, "go and tell him."

"Oh, I can't wait for this."

The moment the enticing beauty had disappeared; Satan turned his gaze back to his former master. "I trust this concludes our business?" he seethed. "That you can go now?"

His guest chuckled. "You know how to make one feel welcome, Lucy." A flash of light enveloped the bearded figure. "Farewell my son, remember I forgive you your trespasses even if you will not."

Satan stared balefully at the spot where the interloper had been stood. "Sanctimonious bastard!"

* * *

Xander stared around the room through red, puffy eyes, his already hollow stomach tightening as he realised something indefinable had happened. He was half out of his seat when he heard a familiar and surprising voice behind him. "Not loving the pirate look, Zeppo." 

Heart thundering, Xander spun around to face the speaker. "H…how?"

The beauty shot him a radiant smile. "The big guy upstairs made me an angel."

"The selection process must be really lax," Xander muttered.

"Doofus," the former cheerleader retorted.

Xander's mouth opened in an insult and then closed. There were more important things to discuss. "Why are you here?"

All at once the curvy beauty's face sobered. "A new champion had to be chosen to help Angel," Cordelia sighed fondly, "and Faith," the cheerleader scowled, "represent earth. You were chosen."

"Me? You've got to be kidding!" Xander exploded. "There's Connor, Groo, Kennedy, and Willow, and I was chosen! Which idiot's idea was that?"

"Mine." Xander clamped his mouth shut. Much as he'd grown to love Cordelia, he'd never learnt to talk to her. "I was given a choice, you, Willow, or Giles. Not much of a choice but I chose you."

"Why?" Xander managed to gasp.

"When I died," Cordelia smiled sadly. "I was able to see everything that happened in your life. I saw you force Angel to help you in the Master's tunnels. I saw you stop Angelus outside Buffy's hospital room. I saw you stop the zombies. I saw you save the world from Willow. I saw you sacrifice yourself to save Kennedy. You've made your mistakes, but there's no Ripper or Dark Willow in your past, you were the best, the only choice."

"But-."

"No buts," Cordelia scolded. "I thought you'd learnt years ago not to argue with me when I'm in this mood." The cheerleader glanced towards Angel. "And if anyone doubts I came here. If anyone has any doubts tell Giles that you know Ethan Rayne was the one who named him Ripper and tell Angel he's welcome for the tip on the Black Thorn and that I love him." Xander gaped at his ex. Before he had chance to comment she'd disappeared.

He looked around to see everyone was now out of their trance and busy arguing, oblivious to what had just happening. Swallowing his self-doubt, Xander spoke up. "I have a solution." When no-one appeared to take any notice, he tried again, raising his voice to a bellow. "I HAVE A SOLUTION!"

Everyone's head snapped towards him. "Apparently I've been selected to represent our side as the third trident bearer," he shrugged at the room's collective gasp. "Hey, it wasn't my idea, blame Cordelia."

"Cordelia!" Angel and Connor reached their feet at roughly the same instant.

"Apparently she's an angel now," Xander hurried on before anyone could speak. "Yeah, not my first choice either. But apparently she knew that Ethan was the one who named you 'Ripper'," he looked from the open-mouthed Council head to the ensoulled vampire, "and she said to say you're welcome for the tip on the Black Thorn." There was no way he was telling Deadboy the second titbit.

Giles' mouth opened and shut. "W…why you?"

"Don't know, didn't ask," Xander lied. There was no need for anyone else to know Cordelia's reasoning, any explanation from him would only sound like boasting anyway. "The question is what do we do next?"

"Quite," Giles shook himself. "The Deeper Well, everything's happening at the Deeper Well." The Watcher nodded. "We'll have to stop Satan's forces getting to our trio of champions before they secure the Deeper Well. We'll split the Slayers into three units. Kennedy, Groo, and Connor you'll have joint control of Alpha unit on the right flank, Rona and Vi you'll have joint control of Beta unit on the left flank, I'll take control of Charlie unit at the point. Riley, I want you and Willow in command of a reserve at the very mouth of the Deeper Well, reinforced with all of our mortal troops."

"I've got a spell I want to research beforehand, a big one," Willow commented.

"Fine," Giles nodded. "I suggest everyone get as much rest as possible. We will have a hard night tonight." Giles looked around, eyes suddenly sad. "I'm sure some of us won't return. I'd just like to say it's been an honour and a pleasure to know each and every one of you. I'll give you all your assignments before leaving tonight."

* * *

Faith licked her lips as she stared at the door before her. She raised a hand to knock on the door then stopped when she realised knocking would only give the room's occupant opportunity to tell her to get bent. After a count of three, she shoved the door open and walked in. "Hey, X, you about?" 

The one-eyed man stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist and all his lovely torso muscles displayed. "Faith, good to see your manners are just the same as ever."

Resisting an urge to lick her lips for quite a different reason than just before, she spoke again. "Congrats with being chosen for this, Cor couldn't have made a better choice, I know how ballsy you are-."

"Faith is this going anywhere?" the distinctly unfriendly-looking Californian snapped. "Only I want to go to bed before we set out on this little jaunt tonight. Alone."

Faith ignored both the man's tone and implied insult. Plenty of men had said a lot worse to her with a lot less cause. "I was just gonna say I'll have your back in this fight no matter what."

"Great," Xander looked less than unimpressed. "Look Faith, I'm not here to bond with you. I'm here to complete this mission and then leave."

Faith resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. Not this bullshit again, she had to swallow X's contempt because she'd earned it but this leaving crap was just gonna hurt him. "In case you ain't noticed B's just died. Red, G, and Pip will need you more than ever now-."

"They haven't needed me for years." Xander shook his head. "And if I wanted someone's advice which I don't, I wouldn't ask you. You know where the door is, use it."


	28. Chapter 28

**Fic: Ravages Of Hell (28/?) **

****

"Might I ask why you're still here?"

Ethan turned from his window over-looking the Slayers training, such delightful fillies, to the man stood in the doorway. Why Ripper, he thought with a delicious thrill of fear, you know just how to deliver a threat within a velvet glove, all polite words, but an underlying tone that just promised danger and pain.

Face held carefully neutral, he shrugged. "Why, Ripper what do you mean?"

"The Witchguard are an irrelevance at this moment in time, if they're brave enough to stick their heads over the parapets, they'd only have someone chop them of. That said, shouldn't you be off gleefully buggering someone's life up?"

Well if that didn't hurt, nothing would. "Perhaps I like it here," he suggested.

A glint entered Ripper's eyes that reminded him of the rough-housing thug his friend had once been. "I'll make it plain then," Ethan backed off as the man advanced. " Willow's off-limits, I won't have you using her power in one of your games. The same with Faith, she's had her problems, but she's a fine young woman, I won't have you tainting her. Xander, Dawn, I won't stand for you trying to corrupt them. And if you've any thoughts of thoughts of sabotaging our efforts here, lose them."

On balance Ethan was heartily relieved that his bladder didn't loosen on the spot. "Sabotaging your efforts?" Ethan forced a laugh. "I'm an anarchist not a bloody end-of-worlder! I'm staying to help in what way I can." Ripper stared disbelievingly at him. "Look at it this way old bean," he continued, "if the world ends, there won't exactly be much chance for mischief for me, will there?"

"Between you helping me with Whydham-Pryce and now staying," Giles shook his head, "I'll never understand you!"

Ethan watched as his fellow countryman left the room. It wasn't hard to understand at all. It was simply because the man he'd secretly loved for thirty years was here. He could no more leave Ripper in his direst hour than he could walk on water.

* * *

Giles took a breath as he reached the entrance to The Deeper Well. It looked for all the world like an ordinary albeit very large oak tree, but there was aura of power surrounding the tree that threatened to bring one to his knees. He turned at a chuckle to his left. "Ethan?"

The chaos mage smirked. "I was just thinking I pity the lumberjack who tries to cut this tree down."

Giles shook his head, a wry smile tugging unwillingly at his lips. Vintage irreverent Ethan.

"How are we going to do this, Giles?"

Giles glanced to an all-business looking Xander. "You, Faith, and Angel are the important ones here-."

"Speak for your bloody self."

He ignored Ethan's mutter to continue. "The rest of us are going to do our very best to buy you the time you need." He looked around the group, thankful for the clearing around the tree. "You know your positions, take them. Willow, get on with whatever spell you're planning, I hope it's a good one."

"Oh," Willow nodded. "It is."

He looked towards Xander, Faith, and Angel. "Go with god."

"You know," Xander chuckled darkly, "if I'm who the fate of the world rests on, kinda thinking god's sitting this one out."

"Optimistic blighter aren't you?" Ethan snarked.

* * *

Angel bit back a groan at the thudding footsteps following him down the steps and into The Deeper Well. Faith was stealthy enough, but Xander had all the elegant grace of a drunken hippo.

No, that was unfair, although Angel wasn't entirely sure if it was unfair to Harris or the hippo. The Californian had been forced into this position by powers far beyond any of their comprehension much less control, but had stayed when plenty of men popularly considered heroes would have turned and run. Not that the youth wasn't feeling the pressure, Angel could hear the youth's drumming heart and smell the sweat forming under the youth's clothes. But he was here, and trying his best, that was the important thing, and Angel could cut him some slack for that.

"Whoa." The whispered exclamation came not from Xander but from Faith, the sultry beauty staring wide-eyed around the entrance hall, a circular room standing before a narrow bridge over an unsettlingly deep chasm. The bridge was itself completely encircled by a sweeping wall containing a seemingly countless number of stone tombs enclosed in open-ended enclosures. "This is not of the good."

"If we do our job we won't have to worry about them," Angel encouraged. "And the only way to do our job is to get these tridents into position, the quicker the better."

"Damn," Faith shot him a disgusted look, "you must be hell on Connor with his chores."

* * *

Every minute stationed outside the tree took an eternity to pass, and yet at the same time passed all too quickly. "Oh bloody hell," Ethan groaned from his position to Giles' left.

Giles looked left and right, the inky darkness surrounding them feeling somehow different. "You felt that too?"

And then suddenly they were there. The Nightbreed Legions, The Glorious Fallen, and all the other too foul to be spoken names that basically meant Satan's forces and mankind's doom.

Fellhounds, huge snarling dogs with curved horns jutting out of their foreheads and the size of ponies, a single bite from the fang-filled mouth meaning death. Orcs, their piggish eyes burning with hatred and their thickly muscled limbs gripping a variety of melee weapons. Hellboars, red-maned boar-like beasts with jagged spikes protruding from their backs and curved tusks erupting from their wide mouths. Shadow-Stalkers, winged vampires who could drain a human with either their teeth or their claws, and could only be killed by decapitation. Malarks, ten foot giants made of living stone. Six-Steppers, spiders the size of small dogs, a cut from their pincers killing anyone before they'd taken six steps. Hornaks, seven foot tall humanoid creatures with green-scales covering their thickly-muscled physiques and lizard-heads. Ethereal Warlocks, black clouds that could whisper horrors to quail the bravest heart. Beastmen, their cloven hoofs stamping on the ground as their gnarled knuckles likewise scraped the grass, their bestial faces staring hungrily at their prey.

Demons stretching as far as the eye could see. And this wouldn't be even a hundredth of the forces Satan could call upon.

"Giles?" He heard Riley's shaky voice in his ear-piece. "Should I?"

"Do it!" Giles snapped.

The ground shook and the black sky briefly illuminated as Riley triggered the explosions he'd spent the first few hours since they'd arrived setting up. Dismembered demons flew up into the air before crashing back down, the air filling with the stench of death and a blood-red mist as hundreds of them died.

But just as soon as they fell, others moved seamlessly into their place.

* * *

Angel glared at first Faith and then a chuckling Xander. Kids, he shook his head, he was trying to save the world with kids. "Just get a move on."

"Say pops," Faith bumped a hip into his hip, "will you spank my ass if I don't?"

"Scary mental image," Xander scoffed as he joined them walking across the uncomfortably narrow bridge.

"My ass ain't scary," Faith protested. "Sinful, hot, pert, curvy, sexy, but it ain't scary."

"Thought of Angel spanking it is," Xander replied.

Angel stopped, his companions continuing on past him, as he felt something indefinable yet wrong in the air. He looked left and right, eyes narrowing. "Oh hell!" Leaping forward, he shoved his hands into Xander and Faith's backs, knocking the protesting couple to the ground, just as a huge several hundred foot long stone pendulum swung across the chasm with enough force to fling them from the bridge had they been stood in its path.

"Thanks Deadboy," Xander gasped as he started to rise, "only next time, cut down on the drama-."

"Stay down!" Snatching a hold of Xander's ankle, Angel yanked him back down to the ground just as another pendulum swung the length of the bridge and through where the young man had been standing. "When I say go, go!" Faith's affirmative grunt and Xander's pale-faced nod were the only signs that his companions had heard. "GO!"

Snatching a hold of the young man's collar, he yanked his companion to his feet and charged through the far exit and around the corner just as the pendulum swung back, the gust of air that accompanied its passing almost enough to take them off their feet.

* * *

"I'd say we're buggered," Ethan muttered.

"We are rather out-numbered," Giles admitted.

"Then it's lucky I brought some reinforcements."

Giles turned, speculating at what spell could create the strain he heard in Willow's voice. Then he saw and promptly wondered if there was time to change his laundry before the battle began.

The forces he'd gathered had parted to make way for the newcomers. And no wonder, for the Slayers in particular their presence must be an uncomfortable reminder of what was to come. All the newcomers were girls, Slayers if he missed his guess, but not live girls, everyone of them – and there were a multitude of cultures and times represented before him to judge from their varying dress, had a terrible wound, a fatal sort of injury. Add to that their deathly pallor, and Giles could come to only one bone-chilling conclusion. Willow had somehow resurrected the slain Slayers.

"Buffy?" he whispered as he looked over them and failed to see her.

Willow shook her head. "The spell," her voice was a whisper, her face taut with tension, "the spell would only work on those who died before the mass Calling, something to do with them being slightly different Slayers." The witch's weary smile carried with it a lifetime of pain. "I had to play the numbers."

"Right," he swallowed again. "How many?"

"There are," his heart almost stopped as a very familiar figure stepped out of the crowd, breaking the unearthly silence that had surrounded them, "three thousand, six hundred and seventy-two of us."

"K…Kendra," he felt tears form in his eyes, "I..I'm sorry you died."

"I'm a Slayer Mr. Giles," the dusky-skinned beauty replied, the ugly scar across her throat testament to the fact, "it's what we do." The Caribbean Slayer looked towards the snarling hordes. "'Tis time we did something about them."


	29. Chapter 29

**Fic: Ravages Of Hell (29/32) **

Giles gasped as the resurrected Slayers tore into the demons, gliding into action with a deadly grace that was matched only with the terribleness of the monsters' charge to intercept them. Dismembered limbs flew mesmerisingly into the dark night sky, blood showering the Slayers as they went about their carnage, six or seven demons falling for every Slayer.

But fall they did. And as quickly as the demons died they were replaced, their reserves seemingly limitless. All too quickly the last of the revived Slayers fell.

Ignoring the groan that seemed to run through their ranks, Giles opened his leather overcoat and passed a shotgun over to his companion. "I trust you remember how to shoot?"

"Clay pigeon shooting old boy," Ethan looked ashen grey. "One never forgets that!"

"Then make every shot count!" he roared. Even as he spoke Giles knew that no matter what there was no way they could win this battle on their own, they were simply fighting a holding battle. It was down to Xander and the others. "You can do it son," he muttered.

* * *

Angel looked left and right, skin prickling uneasily as they continued down the rush-torch lit tunnel that led deeper into The Deeper Well's defences. "There's something-," his eyes widened as the wall to their left began to move, "run!"

"Shit!" Faith was off like a hare, long hair whipping from side to side as she sprinted with an effortlessness that any Olympic runner would envy. Xander was less fortunate, the wide-eyed kid stumbling.

Angel grabbed the youth's elbow, steadying him. Xander's brown orbs stared at him. "Thanks-."

"Don't thank me!" he yelled. "Run!"

"Yeah!" The youth's pants echoed in his ears but they managed to make it through the 100 metre dash a half-second before the two walls crashed together.

"Jesus, X," Faith scowled at Harris. "You don't make things easy-."

"Hey!" the Sunnydaler snapped, not backing an inch before the sultry Bostonian. "Not super-powered! This wasn't supposed to be my gig!"

"That's not the problem and you know it!" Faith snapped back. "If you took your head out of your ass and just believed in yourself for a minute-."

"We don't have time for this." Shaking his head, Angel stepped between the bickering duo. "Can you hear that?" Angel looked up to where the sound was coming from. His eyes widened as he saw a boulder rolling down the wall that had just moved. "Run!"

Xander threw his hands up before turning and starting down the path. "Again!"

* * *

Blast after blast went into the demons' massed ranks, putting down demon after demon. Still the monsters didn't stop or even falter in their advance, the dread of their master greater than the fear of the carnage being wrecked upon them.

"Bugger!" Giles yelled as his Mossberg 590 clicked empty. Throwing it down to the ground in disgust, he drew his longsword. Eyes fixed on the swarming mob facing them, he shouted to his companion. "How many rounds left, Ethan!"

"Last round now old bean!" Ethan flung his shotgun down. "I'd wager the lasses are out too."

"Indeed," Giles spoke rather than shouted as an uneasy quiet fell. "It would appear so."

For an instance the monsters stared at them before charging.

* * *

Xander groaned as he joined the others in turning the corner, his legs buckling under him at the last, hitting the ground on his shoulder. He lay there for a second, gasping as the massive boulder crashed into the end of the corridor behind them.

"It's alright, Xander," Angel eased him to his feet. "You managed it."

"Yeah," Xander leaned against the wall, chest still heaving, "just about."

"We getting this done or what?" Faith impatiently butted in.

It was on the tip of Xander's tongue to ask for a rest, but remembering the others fighting on the surface, he straightened. "Let's go."

Angel shot him a concerned look before slowly nodding. "Okay, this way."

"Gee, Sherlock, its like a tunnel, a tunnel with one route," Faith snarked.

* * *

Giles shuddered as the sixty or so yards still separating them from the monster army erupted in a circle of fire. Giles turned his head away from the blazing fire, the wall of heat causing sweat to bead down his forehead, the stench of burning flesh and the demons' screams almost unbearable.

"Your Wicca?" Ethan guessed.

"A secret weapon of mine," Giles shook his head. "Since I discovered the Devon Coven massacred, I've been finding as many witches and warlocks as possible." Giles chuckled humourlessly. "You can call them our weapons of mass destruction. The difference being they actually exist."

"You always were a crafty bugger." Ethan groaned as the fire disappeared. "Any more surprises?"

"I'm afraid not," Giles raised his sword.

"Ah, Ripper, you lead a lad on. Giving him hope like that."

* * *

Faith's ears filled with Xander's panting. Looking behind her, she saw the sweat-soaked Sunnydaler stumbling behind them. "Damn it," Faith muttered. She felt wicked bad about the way she'd spoken to him before; it wasn't his fault. He shouldn't have been here in the first place; this wasn't a place for him. What the hell had Queen C been thinking picking him? Ken or Conn would have been way smarter choices. Faith smiled wryly, but no-one ever said C was smart.

Faith slowed down until he was level with her. "Hey Xan, about before-."

"Yeah I know," Xander rocked her with the intensity of his glare, "I'm a handicap, I get it." The man's gasps increased as he forced extra pace from his legs, pulling away from her.

"X!" Faith shook her head. Damn fool man. Whatever Willow had done she'd done with the best of intentions, but it had sure messed with X's self-esteem. Sorta like that self-fulfilling prophecy thing they'd talked about in group therapy back in Stockton. Treat someone like they're useless, a thug, a slut whatever, and eventually they'll start to act like it. She remembered how Xand had once tried to help her and decided right there and then she was getting a new Watcher whether he liked it or not.

"Wait." She looked ahead to see Angel had come to a halt. "There's a pit here."

Faith stopped at the edge and peered down into a spike-filled trench. "Wouldn't wanna land on those beauties," she caustically commented before looking to the other side and grinning. "Only six feet across, no problem for any of us."

"Yeah," Angel nodded. "It looks easy. Too easy." The vampire looked at both of them in turn. "Don't come until I say."

"Yes sir!" Xander mockingly saluted the vampire.

"I'm serious, Xander," Angel scowled at the Sunnydaler before bending his knees and leaping across the pit.

And disappearing from view.

* * *

Sweat dripped into his eyes and his arms burnt with the effort of swinging his heavy blade. "Not as fit as I used to be," Ethan chuckled hoarsely. It seemed as if the battle had been joined for hours but in reality it had only been a few minutes. A few hell-filled minutes crammed with terror and the screams of the dead and dying. "A bloody idiot you are, Ethan," he muttered. "I could be chatting up a barsmaid here, preparing myself a last good night, but instead I'm here."

His eyes widened as he saw his friend, god Ripper hadn't been this fearsome in their halcyon youth, fall to the ground under a blow from a Hornak, blood seeping from his brow. The Hornak threw back his head and howled, the sound lost in the battle's bedlam. Then the monster raised his crimson slicked blade.

"Nooo!" Desperation surging through him, Ethan shoved aside weariness to hurdle over a Slayer's crumpled corpse to leap between Giles and the down-swinging blade. He screamed as the longsword sliced through his left shoulder. He had the briefest glimpse of the blood spurting out of his shoulder wound and then the blade ripped through him to his heart. And then nothing.

* * *

"What the!" Angel's eyes widened as the ground he was about to land on disappeared from under him, silver spikes suddenly glinting dangerously up at him. Twisting in mid-air, he desperately grabbed for the path he'd been stood on.

"FANG!"

He heard Faith's terrified scream even as his fingers landed on the outcropping. Grimacing with the effort he swung back onto path, hitting the reassuringly hard stone on his shoulder, rolling up to his feet, and turning to face Faith and Xander. "You can walk to here, the pit's an illusion. The real pit is behind me."

"Are you sure?" Xander demanded.

Always the sceptic. "I'm standing here aren't I?" Angel retorted.

After a second, Xander nodded. "Fair enough."

Once the others had traversed the obstacle, they continued doggedly on until they came to six feet wide two pits filled with more silver spikes but separated by a three foot ledge in-between. "T-R-A-P." Xander shrugged when both he and Faith turned to him. "Thought I'd spell it out in case you were wondering."

"Really wasn't," Faith took her watch off and threw it at the first pit. "Fuck!" The sultry Bostonian cursed when the timepiece disappeared into the spike-filled trench. "That cost me forty bucks!"

"You could go in after it." Xander raised his hands at the brunette beauty's glare. "No need for the dagger eyes, you could just say no."

Angel felt the beginnings of a throbbing headache. He'd never babysat, but judging from his two 'children' whatever baby-sitters got it wasn't enough. "I'll jump to the middle, we'll work things out from there."

"What if the middle's the trap?" Faith asked.

"I'm the most durable of all three of us," Angel said. "Wait here." Before Faith had a chance to argue, because he was certain she would, Angel bent his knees and leapt onto the middle. "Whoa!" Angel's left and then right foot slid on impact. "It's oil underfoot."

"Ah hell!" Faith exclaimed. "They wanted people to jump into the middle and either slip back into the first trap or slide right into the second!"

"That'd be my guess," Angel agreed. "Faith, you take a run-up and jump, it's only 20 – 22 feet in total."

"Five by five," the brunette nodded before trotting back eight feet, dropping into a sprinter's crouch, one hand braced against the stone. A half-second later and she exploded like a gazelle, hair swinging as she blurred to the edge of the pit and leapt. Faith's flight was a thing of beauty, like watching Carl Lewis at his very best. Except Carl never landed on his feet, knees crouched, after jumping twenty plus feet and turned and winked at his audience. "Wicked buzz."

"Okay," Angel turned back to Xander stood nervously waiting, "you jump across to me, I'll catch you."

"You are winding me up!" Xander stared at him.

"Don't be shy," he needled. "I promise not to hold you too tight."

"Not funny," Xander shook his head before stepping back perhaps ten feet and charging towards the hole. As he reached the edge, Xander pushed off. The Sunnydaler's flight was a good deal less graceful than the Slayer's but did the job it was meant to, carrying him to a landing in Angel's waiting arms.

"Xander," Angel smiled at the youth, "have you been putting on weight?"

"Funny Captain HairGel," Xander scowled. "How am I going to get across if I can't take a run-up?"

"I'm going to have to throw you," Angel smiled.

"What-, Deadboy!" Xander let out a wail as Angel picked him up by the collar and flung him across the pit.

Angel smiled. "I can die happy now."

After he'd leapt across, he joined the others in continuing their journey until they reached a wide cavern, his amusement dying at the creature stood snarling there.


	30. Chapter 30

**FIC: The Ravages Of Hell (30/32) **

****

The demon dominating the cavern was huge, perhaps nine feet tall but with enough muscle packed onto its broad frame to somehow make it seem squat. Its face was a thing of nightmares, red eyes colder than ice were set deep in a face that reminded Faith of the ubers they'd fought back in Sunnyd, but none of them had a pair of ram's horns sticking out of the top of their heads like this thing did. "Fuck," she muttered, an icy finger crawling up her back, "he's so ugly even I'd turn him down!"

"What is he?" Xander whispered.

"Il Hemo Rex." Faith glanced towards Angel. She was shocked to see her hero actually looked scared, an expression she'd never seen on his face before. Angel shook himself and glanced towards first her and then Xander. "The Blood King, the demon whose bite to a human created the first uber."

"How do you know that?" Xander whispered.

"I don't know," Angel shrugged. "Never even heard of him before, but as soon as I saw him my demon knew."

"Your demon's talking to you?" Xander shuddered. "So comforting."

"See those three three-pronged holes in the wall behind Godzilla?" Faith pointed behind the prowling growling monster.

"I'd rather fight Godzilla," Xander muttered.

Faith ignored that accurate assessment of their current screw-up. "We must have to put the tridents in there to close the breach between our dimension and theirs."

"In that case," Xander licked his lips. "You two give me your tridents and I'll get them in."

Angel's gaze snapped to the Sunnydaler. "You can't be serious!"

"Hey, if you think I can do a better job than you and Faith fighting Goliath, let's hear it," the one-eyed man responded. "You two keep him off my back while I get rid of the tridents, after that, we run for it, it won't be able to follow us into the tunnels, it's too big."

Faith grimaced before coming to a decision. "Fine," she threw her trident to Xander. She looked towards Angel. "Unless you've got a better idea."

Finally Angel sighed and shook his head. "Using Xander's ideas, how low can I sink?"

"Hey!" Xander protested as he caught Angel's trident.

* * *

Giles gasped as Ethan's blood spewed all over him, his friend\rival's screams echoing in his ears as his corpse fell on him. Giles bared his teeth at the monstrous demon looming over him, helpless to do anything but await the killing blow.

And then a black-haired blur was between him and the demon, and a pair of gentle yet firm hands pulling him out from under his friend's corpse. He glanced up to recognise the potential now Slayer scarred by Caleb so long ago. " Shannon," he gasped.

"Yes sir!" The Slayer pressed his broadsword back in his hand. "Kennedy says you're to stay with Caridad, Colleen, Chao-Ann, and I, sir, we can't afford to lose you."

"Bloody girls," Giles muttered, eyes tearing at their fierce loyalty. He growled as his attention returned to the rampaging army encircling them. These buggers thought they could hurt his girls?

Not if he had a damn thing to say about it. Not a bloody word.

* * *

"Go!"

Faith and Angel surged forwards at Xander's shout. Angel grunted as the demon caught him with a foot to the face, the blow flinging him back down the tunnel they'd just come from. Faith shook her head, typical man, running out on her. "Hey big guy," she blew the demon a kiss, "wanna piece of this?" The demon roared before charging her, flinging a haymaker that would have decapitated her if she hadn't ducked under it. "Guess that's a yes then!" Leaping forward, she connected with a heel to the knee. "Shit!" she leapt back when pain flared through her leg at the impact. "This is not going -, ugh!"

The demon snatched hold of her by the throat and flung her into the wall while simultaneously swinging around to backhand Xander to the ground. Things were not going well.

Faith struggled to her feet as the massive demon charged her. At the last second she darted to the demon's right, teeth gritted as she side-kicked the apparently armoured demon in the gut. Pain flared through her scalp when the monster snatched hold of her swinging hair and flung her to the ground. Faith rolled out of the way of a stomp to the face but was unable to avoid a rib-cracking kick to the stomach. Faith was helpless to do anything other than roll in a ball as the monster advanced on her.

"Lying down on the job, Faith?" Suddenly Angel was on the monster's back, one arm wrapped around the demon's tree-trunk thick neck while the other smashed punch after punch into its face.

"Says you," Faith spat out blood before pulling herself up in time to dive back down when the mammoth demon managed to fling Angel from its back, the vampire bouncing off the wall behind her.

"Shit," she was only back to her hands and knees when the demon grabbed her by the back of her neck, its grip as hard and cold as stone, lifted her back to her feet, and flung her face-first at the wall. Faith managed to hit it feet-first and ran up it, leaping off to somersault into a drop-kick that crashed into the demon's vault-sized chest, knocking it back a step or two. Faith landed in a crouch beside the beast, she grinned briefly as she saw Xander crawling towards the far wall, blood leaking from his forehead. Damn he was tough.

"Christ!" Her smirk turned to a scream when the demon's fist smashed into her shoulder, knocking her to her knees. Before she could recover her footing, the demon was on her, his heavy fists slamming into her back again and again, pounding her into the ground.

Faith screamed as she rolled onto her side and kicked out blindly, hoping to gain some respite from the brutality. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Angel follow her earlier move and crash a dropkick into the behemoth's chest. The vampire landed between her and the monster. "Faith?"

Faith smiled at the concern in her hero's voice even as she struggled to her feet. "Me? I'm just peachy keen." She grinned as Xander shoved the last of the tridents into the wall and the monster suddenly evaporated.

"I'm human," Angel gasped. "I can feel my heart beating!"

"No way!" Faith beamed at her mentor. "Fuckin' A! Whoa!" she shuddered as the floor shook and dust started to fall from the ceiling. "Looks like this place is falling to pieces. Xan!" Faith glanced towards the Watcher. "Time to hustle, dud- oof!"

She gasped as Angel crashed shoulder-first into her already aching mid-section, the force of the blow knocking her off her feet. Her mouth opened to ask the former vampire what the hell he was playing at.

And then a huge boulder slammed into the man lying sprawled where she'd stood, crushing him underneath, and her soul ripped into a thousand pieces. "ANGEL!"

* * *

Giles hit the ground as a Beastman crashed a gnarled fist into his chest, winding him. In an instant, Shannon was between him and the demon, the Slayer's expertly-wielded blade slashing through.

Mid-air.

Giles blinked as his exhaustion befuddled brain struggled to comprehend what had happened. The demonic army had suddenly melted away.

But what a terrible price. Giles' heart shattered as he looked around, the once lush grass now copper-brown with Slayer blood, girls lying dismembered across the battleground, the piteous screams of the dying and merely wounded tearing at his conscience. "They did it."

Giles nodded at Caridad's whisper, of his protectors her and Shannon were the only two who remained. "It would appear so."

"Mr. Giles?" Shannon pointed to the left.

"Good lord," Giles moaned at the startling sight of beasts more nefarious than any vampires heading towards their position. "Journalists." Camera crews to be exact, maybe as many as a dozen of them. He looked towards Caridad. "Dear, get as many Slayers as you can to assist me in holding these buggers back, only don't use any with any sort of medical training. They're needed here."

* * *

Xander stared fuzzily at the scene before him. A hysterically sobbing Faith was trying to lift a huge rock off Angel's clearly crushed body, a boulder so large that four Slayers wouldn't be able to shift it. Forcing his legs under his control, he started towards the beautiful brunette, all the while shooting worried looks at the chamber's cracking ceiling.

"Faith!" he had to shout to be heard over the chamber's quaking. "We have to leave here! Now!"

Xander's voice died when the Slayer turned to him, a chilling look of insanity in the Bostonian's pool-like eyes he'd only seen once before. Of course that was the time she'd damn near choked him to death, so not a good memory. "You wanted this!" She screamed. "You're glad he's dead." Xander opened his mouth to deny the accusation. Once sure, but not now.

The Slayer's elbow crashed into his chest before he had the chance to utter a word in his defence. The force of the blow lifted him off his feet and dumped him on the ground five feet away. Tears of pain blurring his vision, Xander reached into his ankle holster and pulled out the tranq gun he'd used twice during his time in Africa to bring in rouge Slayers.

He squinted as he aimed the gun at the oblivious Slayer, more than conscious how the volatile beauty would react if he made a mess of this. After a final lick of the lips, he squeezed the trigger.

The supernatural warrior shuddered as the dart thudded into her neck. Xander's heart dropped as the Slayer yanked the dart out of her neck, and turned to him, glaring eyes impaling him. "Oh crap."

"You son of a bitch!" Xander backed off as the beauty advanced on him. "I am gonna rip your fuckin-." Suddenly Faith's eyes dulled and her face slackened. Then she fell face first onto the ground beside him.

"Couldn't she have done that before I filled my shorts?" Xander muttered as he climbed to his feet, picked up the limp Slayer and slung her over his shoulder. As always with the Slayers, he was surprised just how light the ebony-eyed beauty was. Stepping out of the tunnel, he heaved a sigh of relief when he found the pits that had obstructed their way had disappeared. "That's one problem solved. All I have to do is get out of here before the whole place collapses." He stumbled as the chamber shook. "And before Faith awakens and objects to my whole 'me Tarzan, you Jane act'."

Women's lib had a lot to answer for.

* * *

"That is to say-."

"GILES!!!!!!!"

The urgency of Willow's mental scream caused Giles' skull to reverberate with enough force to almost bring him to his knees. "Bloody hell, woman," he muttered, "calm down." Although Willow's distress did at least give him opportunity to break away from dealing with Satan's sidekicks, aka the media. "Kennedy," he glanced towards the bloodied but still resolute brunette, "keep them back." The Slayer nodded. "Oh and should they give you any hassle, don't be shy about them in their place. Afterwards we can always chalk any injuries up to misfortune."

Giles started through the battleground, careful not to look away from the dead, dying, and wounded. He'd brought them all here, he couldn't demean their sacrifice by not bearing witness. "Riley," he smiled when he found the young soldier, uninjured save from a swollen jaw and cut above his left eye, "have you seen Willow?"

"Over by the big oak," the young man directed.

"Thank you," he nodded, "thank you for everything." He hurried over to find Willow crouched beside a slight female sat limply against a giant oak -, his eyes widened in recognition. "Faith!" his heart jumped. "You're alright!" His eyes narrowed as he noted the dullness in the Slayer's usually luminous eyes. "What's wrong with her?"

"She's drugged," a teary-eyed Willow responded.

Giles looked around, heart thumping in sudden terror. "And Xander where is he?"

The Wicca's gaze snapped to him. "I just found her here, no Xander, no Angel. I don't know where either of them are!"


	31. Chapter 31

**Ravages Of Hell (31/32) **

****

"Hello, I'm Huw Edwards reporting for BBC News." His voice cracked slightly. A second later he'd regained control. "On 29th May 2005. For weeks now, the world has been in a situation of considerable turmoil, many of its most powerful citizens have been murdered in an unprecedented bloodbath." He paused, again struggling with his composure. "Last night, the reasons and forces behind these apparently random incidents became shockingly apparent."

He glanced down at his notes, still far from sure that he wasn't unwittingly involved in some sort of colossal, tasteless hoax that would end up wrecking his career. Taking a breath, he looked up. "In the Cotswolds last night, demonic forces attacked a group of three hundred or so warriors defending the world-."

* * *

"Hello, I'm Ted Koppel," he leaned into the camera and smiled. "And this is ABC News Nightline on May 29th 2005." He turned serious. "Yesterday the world was shaken by the revelation that we're not alone on this planet of ours. This world is not also populated by aliens as many have suggested, but perhaps even more shockingly by demons." He looked to his left, the camera moving to the panel of experts. "Tonight, in a specially extended edition, my guests and I will discuss just how this disclosure will change the world we live in."

* * *

"And now to our Security Correspondent Frank Gardner outside the UN. Building."

"Thank you, Huw," the security correspondent nodded at the camera. "Today, three days after what is becoming known as 'the Slayer War', the UN meets in emergency council to discuss what to do next. Already the ambassadors have heard testimony from Rupert Giles, the head Watcher, Willow Rosenberg, the world's most powerful Wicca, Riley Finn, the ranking military officer at the battle, and Faith LeHane, the head Slayer and young woman who is rapidly becoming the public face of 'Slayerdom' as this staggering entity is becoming known."

"And as there been any discussion about just what do about demonic activity?"

Frank nodded at his question. "Such is the urgency of this situation the ambassadors have already come to a number of decisions. Miss Rosenberg has been named UN Advisor on Occult Research, with Mr Giles gaining the same rank on Demonic Activity. In addition, the newly promoted General Finn has been named the head of a Multi-National UN force consisting of sixty sixteen man teams made up of twelve troops, two Slayers, a magic user, and a Watcher. These teams' duties are to be limited to the hunting down of demons or humans participating in the black arts and will not involve them acting in any 'mundane' conflicts. Already thirty countries have offered resources, either financial or personnel, while no less than sixty-seven nations have agreed to allow these teams full border-access. One last point, Mr. Giles was at pains to emphasise how important the Council's independence is."

"Thank you, Frank," Huw glanced down at his notes. "At the same time the four Slayer War veterans spoke, their testimony was beamed via satellite to both the NATO and EU headquarters buildings. Let's hear the reaction from Gavin Hewitt in Brussels. Gavin, first, NATO's reaction?"

"The testimony was met with considerable shock, not the least that a number of their member nations, most notably England and America, had some knowledge of the Slayers but failed to share it with other nations. That aside, it had been decided that NATO will co-operate with the Watchers' Council in all matters, and that Mr. Giles be appointed NATO Ambassador for Occult Operations and a deputy ambassadorship was likewise bestowed on Miss Rosenberg."

"Heady days, Grant, "Huw commented. "And the EU's reaction?"

"Like NATO, Britain's partners were less than enthused by their prior knowledge of the Council's existence, and demanded to know why they weren't informed. That aside, they also promised full co-operation with the UN's new special forces unit. In addition, Mr. Giles was given the position of EU Commissioner for Demonic Security with Miss Rosenberg unanimously voted in as his deputy."

* * *

"Hello," Brian smiled into the camera, "I'm Brian Williams, and this is NBC Nightly News on 5th June 2005. Today, a number of the Slayer War veterans were honoured at the White House. For more, here's Campbell Brown, on location outside the White House."

"Hello Brian," the White House correspondent smiled before beginning her report. "Today, the newly promoted General Riley Finn was awarded the Congressional Medal Of Honour by the president who called him 'a shining example to the youth not only of America, but of the world'. Other awardees included Willow Rosenberg, Faith Lehane, and an absent Xander Harris who were all awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom. Miss. Buffy Summers and Angel were both awarded posthumous Presidential Medals of Freedom. In addition Miss LeHane was awarded a full pardon. Robin Wood, Connor Morgan, and Kennedy Lucas all received National Security Medals. Mr. Giles, who was unable to attend, was made an Honorary Citizen of the United States."

"I understand that award got quite a reaction?"

"Miss Lehane was heard to comment 'G's gonna shit when he hears this'." The White House correspondent smiled. "Given the Slayer's emerging reputation, we can't be sure that's a good thing."

* * *

"Gavin Hewitt, outside Buckingham Palace on the 11th June 2005." He smiled into the camera. "Today was a day of high pageantry, with awards being given out to the Slayer War veterans in a special investiture by the Queen. A new medal was made especially for the fighters of The Slayer Wars, the Slayer Cross, and was awarded to every one of the investiture's attendees as well as posthumously to the Slayer War's one hundred and sixty-seven dead. It's understood this award will be used in the future to mark bravery in battling demons."

"In addition to these awards, I understand a number of individual commendations were given out?" Huw commented from the studio.

Gavin nodded. "Both the vampire Angel and Buffy Summers were posthumously awarded honorary VCs. Both General Finn and the absent Xander Harris were also awarded honorary VCs. Mr. Giles was made a Knight of the Order of the Garter, something that reportedly had the head Watcher openly crying with pride. Miss Rosenberg was made an honorary member of the Order of Merit. Faith LeHane, Robin Wood, and Kennedy Lucas were all awarded honorary Military Medals."

"I understand that these are just some of the commendations that are mooted to becoming the way of the Slayer War heroes?" Huw queried.

"Yes," Gavin nodded. "Over twenty countries have announced plans to award the Slayers in some way or other. In addition, there are rumours that a certain Mr. Rupert Giles is a front-runner for this year's Nobel Peace Prize."

* * *

"Hello, I'm Mary Hart, and this Entertainment Tonight on 22nd June 2005." Mary smiled at her audience. "The big news in Hollywood is the rumours that a number of Hollywood big-hitters including Cameron, Spielberg, Scorsese, and others are competing for the rights to the Faith LeHane story, a movie to be called 'Troubled Hero'. When asked to comment on these rumours, Miss Lehane's only reply was to laugh and say 'there ain't a Hollywood chick with nuff 'tude to play me."

* * *

"Hello, I'm Nick Ross. And this week on Crimewatch UK we start with a missing person appeal," Nick paused, "an appeal for a person that over the last month you will have become more than familiar with." A picture of an one-eyed man appeared on the screen as he continued to talk. "Alexander Lavelle Harris disappeared the night of the Slayer War, after helping to save the world. Since that time, the young man has been feted and honoured with numerous awards from many nations. But he hasn't been seen since." The picture of the man disappeared, the camera moving back to Nick. "And so tonight, we're here to launch an appeal for Xander as he's known by his friends to get in touch. Together," he looked to his left, "with a very special guest, Sunnydale veteran, Slayer Cross awardee, and trainee Watcher, Miss Dawn Summers. Hello Dawn."

The beautiful brunette quickly wiped at her eyes before replying. "Hello Nick."

"First of all, I'd like to thank you all for your brave actions in the Slayer War," he began. "Now, could you tell us some more about your friend, I understand he was the first 'Scooby' to offer his loyalty to your sister?"

"Thank you, Nick. Yes Xander," the brunette paused, clearly collecting herself, "was more than a friend, he was a brother in all but blood."

"And he's been fighting demons since he was a teenager, in fact before he was legally able to vote?" Dawn nodded. "Amazing. I understand he saved your sister's life on a number of occasions?"

"And Faith's once," the trainee Watcher added.

"And the world from Miss Rosenberg after the death of her lover?"

The Watcher nodded. "But it's not that that makes him special. It's the way that when you've had the most awful day, he can look at you and just make you feel better by knowing he cares."

He looked into the camera. "And there you have it. One of the Slayer War heroes is missing. They saved us once, now we have a chance to help them. If you have any -."

* * *

"Hello, I'm Jan Hofer," he smiled at the camera, "and this is Tagesschau on 23rd July 2005. Rioting erupted today in Switzerland at a meet and greet for Slayer War vetrans Rona Andrews and Rona Crais, as panic erupted that they might not stay long enough to speak to the twenty thousand youngsters who had come to meet the two legends on their goodwill tour-."

* * *

"Hello, I'm Jeremy Paxman, and this is Newsnight, on 31st July 2005. Tonight on the program, we're delighted to have a live interview with Jans Mueller, a Der Spiegel correspondent who is the first reporter to get an in-depth interview with the enigmatic Sir. Rupert Giles. We'll be getting his thoughts on the very English legend. But first, the headlines-."

* * *

"Hello," he nodded towards the camera, "I'm Bob Schieffer and this is the CBS Evening News on 8th August 2005. Today in Crete, Rona Andrews and Vi Crais Slayed Stavros. The Greek demon was the oldest remaining known vampire, reputed to be over 800 years old." Bob paused as grainy footage was shown of the two Slayers in action, their movements supernaturally graceful. "No injuries were sustained by the Slayers and support team. In Slayer-related news, Kennedy Lucas led a successful attack on the Witchguard HQ."

* * *

"Tonight on Access Hollywood, do we have a guest for you," Maria Menounos beamed proudly. It had taken some serious bargaining and begging, but she'd got the guest she wanted. "Here she is," she rose, "I know I won't have to ask you to give a big hand to the senior Slayer herself. She's sexy. She's out-spoken. She's dangerous. She's brave. She's Faith Lehane!"

The studio audience erupted, with the largest wolf whistles coming from a bunch of frat boys. After a second, the Slayer herself strode onto stage, looking ravishing in a pair of two sizes too small leather pants and tiny black midriff top. "Yo," she hollered. "What's up gang?" The Slayer winked. "Can't hear you, make some noise ya all!"

* * *

"Hello, I'm Kathleen Pretty, and this is Canada Now: Newsworld Edition on 16th August 2005. Today, the UN announced the Summers Memorial Fund, named in honour of Buffy Summers. This fund, started with donations from each of the UN member nations will be used to compensate the families of Slayers fallen in battle-."

* * *

"Hello, I'm Jan Hofer," he stared grimly at the camera, "and this is Tagesschau on 23rd August 2005. Today Ms. Willow Rosenberg paid an emotional visit to the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp. Afterwards a tear-eyed Ms. Rosenberg read a statement to the gathered press that Belsen and other camps should serve as a reminder that not only that evil is no respecter of nationalities, borders, or races, that the capacity for evil is in every one of us. And also that while it can be cruel, vindictative, and malicious that it is always cowardly and only by being brave enough to stand against it can we defeat it."

* * *

"Hello, I'm Susan McGinnis and this is CBS Morning News on 10th September 2005." She smiled before continuing. "Exciting Slayer news about international hero and heart-throb, General Riley Finn who it has been announced will be starring in a new series of recruitment adverts for the armed services-."

* * *

"Hello I'm Randy Price, this is WHDH-TV, and this is the 29th September 2005. Today, a Slayer veteran, none other than the legendary Faith Lehane, returned home to launch the 'Christine Forest Memorial Fund', a charity catering to abused teens."

"I understand this charity already has a number of big backers," Catarina commented.

"That's right, Cat," Randy smiled into the camera. "Local and national businesses are stampeding to be associated with a charity run by the beautiful Bostonian who is rapidly becoming the world's most photographed woman."

"I understand that this charity is very personal to Miss Lehane?" Catarina queried.

"Yes, dressed in a trouser suit instead of her customary leathers, the unusually serious looking Slayer read out a statement where she explained that Christine Forest was her first Watcher and the only real mom she'd ever had. She also said that she hoped by starting this charity she could save some kids from the hell she'd had to go through."

"I understand the usually exuberant Slayer looked tense," Catarina continued. "Are the pressures of fame getting to her?"

"Sources suggest the reason for the Slayer's tension is something else," Randy replied. "She and the others are very worried about the missing Xander Harris, the young man who has fought alongside Miss Rosenberg and Sir. Rupert Giles from the beginning."

* * *

Hello I'm Maria Miel and this is La 2 Noticias de TVE on 7th October 2005." Maria rustled her papers before continuing. "Today, the now legendary Sir. Rupert Giles was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in an emotional and heavily-guarded ceremony in Oslo, Norway."

* * *

"Hello, I'm Huw Edwards reporting for BBC News, on 10th October 2005. Today, Faith Lehane led a force consisting of herself, Connor Morgan, Kennedy Lucas and the Groosalug to wipe out a Scourge stronghold in Tuscany. The Scourge are a group of pure-blood demons somewhat similar to the Nazis of the 1930s, who believe all tainted with human blood should be wiped out." He looked down at his notes. "Fortunately there were no casualties on our side. In Slayer-related news, Sir Rupert Giles was awarded the freedom of Oxford and made an honorary chancellor. In addition, both Harvard and Moscow State University have announced plans to honour the British knight with doctorates some time in the new year."

* * *

"Hello, I'm GianfrancoVialli and this is Studio Aperto on 26th October 2005," he nodded into the camera, careful to keep his face grave. "Controversy raged today when Miss. Rosenberg and Miss Lehane snubbed a papal invitation to join the other major members of the Watcher's Council for a blessing. And now to our reporter on the scene, Rosa Rosso. Hello, Rosa."

"Hello," the former model smiled back at him from her position ourside the looming Vatican.

"I understand that the majority of the controversy has been ignited by some remarks made by Miss Lehane?"

"Yes," the elegant reporter nodded. "The American hero, idol to millions around the world, issued a statement where she said amongst other things 'I don't know if there is a god. But if there is, and he sits on his ass, allowing children to be abused, unjust wars to be fought, and millions to die from famine and easily curable dieases, I don't want any part of him.'"

"I understand the vatican has issued a respone?" he asked.

"Yes, they've been careful to be diplomatic, not wishing to anger those who idolise the American beauty. Their reply was 'Miss Lehane's stance is disappointing'."


	32. Chapter 32

**Ravages Of Hell (32/32) **

****

"It's Friday again," Jonathan Ross grinned at the camera, "Friday Night With Jonathan Ross. And do I have a special show for you tonight. An act that's not only headlining in Vegas, his first album selling over eight million copies before its release, but is also the Council's publicity officer. Yes, he's here, he's demonic, he's Lorne!" The crowd erupted as the demon walked out onto the set, 4 Puffs And A Piano singing along to 'Dedicated Follower Of Fashion'.

"I'll be honest with you Lorne," Jonathan said as his guest sat down. "It's a pleasure to have you here, but you weren't my first choice as Council guest. I'd often had a yearning to have Faith on my couch."

"Oh be honest Jonathan," Lorne giggled. "Hasn't every man?"

"Or even Kennedy. Or Dawn. I love powerful women, but that Miss. Rosenberg she's a little too powerful."

"Always loved your show Jonathan," purred the red-horned demon, "and don't listen to what people say, it takes nerve to dress like us."

"Well thank you, Lorne." Jonathan smiled. "And is being a demon a barrier with the ladies?"

"I'd like to be modest and say no, Jonathan, but who am I kidding?" Lorne laughed. "The ladies love the green!" The crowd erupted into cheers and security struggled to contain some of the Lornies, as the demon's groupies had become known as. "These days I get more panties than Tom Jones!"

"The question I've always wanted answering is clean or unclean. No," he laughed, "don't answer that. It's still a surprise to see a demon out in public. I'm given to understand a number of demons work for the Council?"

"Oh yes," Lorne smiled. "I mean could anything evil dress this well?"

"Quite." Jonathan looked down at his notes, wondering if this interview was going to stay under his control. "I understand you were a close friend of the vampire, Angel."

"Yes, Angel," Lorne sighed, his mood taking a down-turn. "That man, he was troubled, but he had the soul of a hero."

"And his son, Connor caused him some problems?"

"That kid," Lorne shook his head, "caused the whole world problems, he made Axel Rose seem saintly, but his dad would be proud of the man he is now."

"And the question I've got to ask," Jonathan leaned forward. "Is Faith is as fierce as she seems?"

"Oh you'll get me in trouble," Lorne laughed. "On the outside that girl's all cacti, but on the inside, she's pure desert flower."

"And I understand you agreed to come on here if we allowed you to make an appeal?"

"That I did, Jonathan," the demon looked into the camera. "Harris, I'm talking to you kid. I don't know what your problem is. Guess what, I don't care. All I know is you're hurting those who love you, causing some of the sweetest people it's ever been my pleasure to know pain. Now get those tight little buns back home, because if you keep us waiting much longer, when we do get our hands on you, I'll tie you down and force you to listen to the Spice Girls' back catalogue continuously for a month."

"Now there's a threat!" Jonathan smiled before glancing at his notes. "Now your act's sold out for months-."

"Years," the smirking demon corrected.

"In advance. What do you sing?"

* * *

"Hello, I'm Marc Bator and this is Tagesschau, on 4th November 2005." Marc smiled, pausing for a moment before continuing. "Today, more details were announced about the 'Paladin Units', the Watcher\Slayer led teams mooted three months ago at the UN. It appears that these teams will be posted to each of the continents according to domestic population, with three 'crack' teams held in reserve to deal with specific Armageddon-threatening situations, one led jointly by Miss Rosenberg and Miss Lucas, one led by Faith Lehane, and one under the control of General Finn. Overall control of the Paladin Units will remain with the Council. And in other -."

* * *

"Bonjour," she smiled into the camera, "I'm Francoise Laborde and this 20 Heures Le Journal on 15th November 2005. Today in Slayer-related news, Faith Lehane was reported to have hunted down and killed Dod Bosu in Montreal, Canada. Dod Bosu was believed to be the last remaining member of the Circle of The Black Thorn. In other Slayer-related news, it is rumoured that Faith Lehane, Dawn Summers, Gwen Raiden, Kennedy Lucas, Rona Andrews, and Vi Crais are rumoured to be in negotiations with a top Paris fashion house for an evening gown and swimwear show, the proceeds of the event to be split equally between the Buffy Summers & Christine Forest Memorial Funds. Tickets are rumoured to be priced at starting at $ 200 with tickets for the six table exclusive dinner at a closed-off restaurant with the heroes starting at $ 500."

* * *

"Hello, I'm Akiro Hase, and this is G60 Minutes on the 10th December 2005." He smiled into the camera. "Today in New York, the English knight and Council head Sir Rupert Giles was awarded an extraordinary United Nations Prize in the Field of Human Rights. These awards are normally only issued every five years but the Secretary-General explained that such was Mr. Giles' exceptional leadership and bravery in the face of overwhelming odds to save us all from slavery, he had to be recognised immediately."

* * *

"Hello, I'm Huw Edwards, at BBC News at ten," he smiled into the camera, "on the 18th December 2005. Today, more information was revealed about the proposed Paladin Units, and the selection of the military personnel to the units. First, to Gavin Hewitt outside the Council Keep?"

"Hello, Huw," Gavin greeted. "Today it was announced that troops would be selected from volunteers from the special forces of countries that had signed the UN Demonic-Security Charter."

"And I understand that more information was released as to regards the selection panels?" Huw enquired.

"Yes," Gavin nodded. "The panels will be made up of three people. A Watcher – either Sir Rupert Giles, Dawn Summers, Robin Wood, Mr. Robson, or Miss Rosenberg. A ranking supernatural warrior – Faith, Kennedy, Connor, the Groosalug, Vi, or Rona. And a military officer – either General Finn, Colonel Finn, or Captain Miller. Assuming the applicant passes the interview, they will then have to sing for the psychic demon, Lorne."

"And once someone is selected, they will go through a rigorous training course?" Huw pressed.

"That's correct, this training will in the words of Miss Rosenberg 'familiarise the trainees with demons, magic, and lots of other fun stuff.'" Gavin smiled. "Miss Rosenberg's words, not mine."

* * *

"Hello, I'm Ted Koppel," he leaned into the camera and smiled. "And this is ABC News Nightline on December 29th 2005." He turned serious. "Seven months after the Slayer War and thanks to the charisma of Faith Lehane, the beauty of Dawn Summers, the bravery of Kennedy Lucas, the power of Willow Rosenberg, and the leadership of Sir. Rupert Giles we're still as fascinated as ever with the Watcher's Council. And yet, there is still one person we know little about, and has been missing since the final battle – Xander Harris. Tonight, myself and my panel of experts will discuss this fine American. Why did he disappear? Where has he gone? What drove him to complete the amazing deeds he's recorded as doing during his time in Sunnydale and afterwards? We'll hear from classmates including the editor of his school paper, and from fellow construction workers. And we'll even hear from his friend and head of Watcher USA, Mr. Robin Wood, with a personal appeal for information relating to Xander's whereabouts."

* * *

"Welcome everybody to Loose Women on the 20th January 2006, I'm Kaye Adams," Kaye beamed into the camera. "And haven't we got a show for you today! An interview with none other than Wicca extraordinaire Willow Rosenberg-." The studio audience erupted in cheers. "Discussing how Slayers and magic effect feminism, and how even as an all-powerful lesbian icon there's still room for men in her life."

* * *

"Hello," Huw stared into the camera, "this is the BBC News at six o' clock on the 12th February 2006. She was considered arguably the most dangerous vampire in existence. Certainly she was the most demented. No more. In the early hours of this morning, Connor Morgan ended the Aurelias line, by Slaying Drusilla in a Glasgow housing estate. Ironically, Drusilla was the childe of his father's unsoulled alter-ego, Angelus-."

* * *

"And in other news," Maria Menounos swallowed as she looked nervously at the camera. This segment was risky. "Our reporter managed to get a few words with Faith LeHane regarding Hugh Heffner's repeated attempts to tempt her into posing as a Playboy centrefold as she was leaving a downtown San Diego gym."

The screen changed to a video obviously shot earlier in the day. A gym door swung open and Faith strode out, clad in lyrca shorts and a black 'Pitbull Gym' tanktop, hair tied back in a pony-tail. "Yeah thanks," Faith smirked as she signed autographs. "My pleasure, remember if ya can't be good, be careful."

"Miss Lehane!" a voice shouted out and an Access Hollywood reporter ran into shot, microphone at the ready. "A word."

The Slayer's chocolate eyes rolled back. "Sure," she shrugged. "I always gotta time for the press."

"Have you any comments regarding Hugh Heffner's increased offer for you to pose-."

The reporter's mike was snatched from him. It was the fourth time that Maria had seen the footage but even so she couldn't help shiver at the sudden coldness in the brunette's eyes. "Oh yeah, I got a few comments," the Slayer's voice was harder than steel. "Hugh, honey. I don't blame ya for wanting to get your wrinkled hands on this piece of prime expletive." The raven-tressed beauty's hands slowly moved down her body. "But 2 million, 5 million, expletive ten, don't make no difference, the answer's still expletive no. But ya keep askin', and I will pay ya a expletive visit. But not to pose for ya. To expletive wring ya expletive chicken-neck, rip off your expletive, shove it down your expletive throat, and burn ya expletive mansion to the expletive ground. That clear enough for ya, ya expletive piece of expletive?" The Slayer flung the mike to the ground, turned to leave, spun back around, and scooped the mike before snarling into it. "And the same goes if ya try for any of my girls, ya expletive dig?"

* * *

"Good day folks," Steve Liebmann beamed into the camera, pumped by the news he was delivering, "today is the 17th April 2006, and today we're leading with the story that the missing Slayer War hero, Xander Harris, was found twenty miles north of Ayers Rock, in a remote town." He paused for a second. "Town dwellers report being awoken by the sound of a trio of helicopters landing. Moments later, a number of Slayers, including the now world-famous Faith Lehane, disembarked and began a search that apparently turned up the missing hero. After a heated discussion that is rumoured to have ended with Miss Lehane knocking the one-eyed man unconscious, the helicopters left."

* * *

"Hello, I'm Huw Edwards, at BBC News at ten," he smiled into the camera, "on the 20th April 2006. Today, the Council confirmed what has been rumoured for days. Alexander Harris, Slayer War veteran, and Scooby group founder has been found safe and well in Australia. And now to Gavin Hewitt outside the Council Keep?"

"Hello, Huw," Gavin's face appeared on the screen, "Lorne read," the news reporter looked briefly stunned, "or rather sang a statement that the young man in question had been recovered."

"And what about the rumours about Xander Harris having to be restrained?" Huw asked.

"Lorne would only confirm that everyone was very pleased to have him back with his family."

* * *

"And now," Big Kenny Alpin swung his hands out wide. "Presenting the Grammy for Best Hard Rock Performance, she's wild, she's beautiful, she's brave. She's Faith Lehane!"

The Grammy Awards crowd rose as one as the Slayer strode on stage, wearing a low-cut , knee-length silver dress, their clapping seeming to shake the building's foundations. Once the crowd had finally re-taken their seats, Big Kenny spoke. "So, the first thing I want to know is there any truth to the rumours about you and Xander Harris? And if there isn't, is there any hope for The Universal Minister of Love?"

Faiith snorted as she looked towards him. "Not. A. Chance." The curvy Bostonian turned to the crowd. "You call that an ovation? I couldn't hear a thing. Make some noise!"

* * *

"Today on the NBC Dateline," Stone Phillips' voice cracked then steadied, "a year to the day since the Slayer War, we're devoting the entire hour to discussing the Slayer phenomena. How it's effecting our world view. Activists in the fields of feminisim, lesbianism and Wiccan have reported an exponential growth. Is this a good thing? Worries about terrorism and global warming have been shelved in the wake of the new reality, is this right? Is anyone worried about this apparently independent army of super-powered warriors? To help me discuss these questions we've assembled a distinguished panel including Mr. Robson, member of the Council Ruling Body, and General Riley Finn."

* * *

"And today on Regis and Kathie Lee," Regis beamed into the camera, "there's only one story we can be talking about. Can you guess? Of course you can! Kathie?"

His co-host beamed. "That's right, Regis. Today, the 25th August 2006, it was confirmed that Faith LeHane and Alexander Harris are getting engaged." Kathie looked towards the audience crowd. "Let's have a round of applause people!"

* * *

"And in other news," Huw looked down at his notes, "the wedding date for Faith LeHane and Xander Harris has been announced. The wedding will take place at Castle Leslie on 30th March 2007, with prominent figures from politics, European royalty, entertainment, and of course the Council will be present. It was also announced that the wedding pictures have been sold to OK for a sizeable seven figure sum with proceeds being split equally between the Christine Forest and Buffy Summers Memorial Funds."

* * *

"Hello, I'm Lisa Rinna, reporting from Ireland for Entertainment Tonight on the wedding of Alexander Harris and Faith LeHane. The world's press gathered here just hours ago to witness the nuptials of the world's most photographed woman to the battle-scarred warrior that rumours say she idolises. The wedding was different in a number of ways, the bride forewent the traditional dress to turn up looking glamorous in a specially tailored trouser suit, the best man was in fact a woman, Willow Rosenberg, and the Slayer was given away by the Council head. In addition, the musicians vying to play at the ceremony including the Stones, Elton John, Stevie Wonder, and Paul McCartney were snubbed in favour of Lorne who took centre stage for a reputedly barn-storming performance."

* * *

"Hello, I'm Nancy O'Dell presenting Access Hollywood for you on 24th November 2007 and the big news today is that Lorne is rumoured to have turned down the opportunity to duet with Brittney Spears on her comeback album, 'saying that crazy bitch makes looney-tunes Connor seem low maintenance'."

* * *

"Hello, I'm Huw Edwards, this is the Six O' Clock News on the 23rd February 2008. Today, at an undisclosed London location and under the guard of two Paladin Units, Ms. Faith Lehane gave birth to twin boys, Jesse and Rupert Harris. Mother and babies are doing well. And now we're going to a statement from Gavin Hewitt. Gavin?"

"Hello," Gavin beamed. "A red-eyed Rupert Giles read out a statement, the Council head's normal cool reserve slipping on a number of occasions. "Mother and babies are doing well, the father was in attendance at the births. He said he was enormously touched to have one of the boys named after him, the other is named after Xander's boyhood friend who was killed by the vampire, Darla. When asked for any comments from the new mother or father," Gavin Hewitt chuckled. "Faith was qouted to have said 'nine months of carrying, six hours of pushing, you're changing all the diapers Harris, and if I don't get my figure back, run for the hills.'"

** The End **

****


End file.
